A snape is for life, not just for Christmas
by Shiv5468
Summary: Severus and Hermione have been set up by Albus just once too often. They decide to play him at his own game and fake an engagement, snaffle the presents and then stage an argument. Will it work out like that?
1. Default Chapter

Porfessor Severus Snape, Order of Merlin First Class, was admiring his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed down the front of his new dress robes, and admired the way they dramatically swirled around his austere frame. They were black, of course, with subtle hints of the lining showing at the cuffs and throat. A lining of the finest dark green silk embroidered with a stylised pattern that could equally well be repeated motifs of his initials or the emblem of his house, the snake of slytherin.  
  
The faint smile that was playing round his lips faded when he looked at the Order of Merlin. The one fly in his ointment - the ribbon that the Order was suspended from was scarlet and gold. Even in this, his triumph as war hero and acknowledged saviour of wizardkind, the Gryffindors had to muscle in on his glory.  
  
With a dismissive flick of his wand he changed the ribbon to green and silver, and then swept out to the party.  
  
One year on from the defeat of Voldermort the wizarding world was still celebrating. He had his promised Order of Merlin, he had many a young woman happy to thank him for his role in the war personally and repeatedly, and yet he felt slightly discontented.  
  
He strode into the hall to take his seat at High Table. There was one reason for his discontent. Wherever he went, wherever he was feted, Harry- the-boy-who-got-lucky-Potter was already there. He had hoped that once school was over he would be free of the short-sighted, scruffy, thick as bottled pig shite, if he fell over in a sewer he would come up smelling of roses, little tosser.  
  
Deep breaths.  
  
And, of course, his little ginger sidekick. Who, lets face it, was very lucky to survive at all. If anyone deserved to be called a spare it was him. It had seemed at one point that the Weasley's destiny had been to fall in front of Harry at some opportune moment and sacrifice his life for the greater good, but no, he had to go and bloody live!  
  
God, he hated the pair of them. Even on those rare occasions he managed to escape their company he couldn't avoid them smirking up at him from Witches Weekly. The Daily Prophet had even taken a leaf out of the book of Muggle newspapers and had a sort of court circular reporting on their whereabouts. They were now, apparently, eligible bachelors.  
  
He was wondering whether it might be possible to get a job teaching Potions at Beauxbatons. Or even DADA. Not Durmstrang though, too cold. He shuddered at the thought.  
  
"Cold, Severus? I would have thought that the hot air from all the speeches would keep you warm?"  
  
Now his life was complete. The last of the trio, and the only one he had the slightest bit of respect for. Not that he would ever let her know it, of course.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said coldly.  
  
"Now, now Severus, no backtracking."  
  
"Hermione," he conceded with a faint, chilly smile. She had wrung the concession of first name terms out of him during a weak moment the last time they met. He had been very grateful when she had headed off a particularly enthusiastic fan with the face and disposition of a bull dog. He rather suspected Piss Pot Potter and his Pint Sized Pal of being behind that one.  
  
Bastards.  
  
At least . Hermione kept up date with all the latest gossip. She was entertaining him with a description of the latest exploits of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, involving an attempted threesome with Harry Potter - really the boy ought to have more taste - but ending up with Ron instead. Pansy hadn't taken the news well and had made a dash for it screaming something about ginger pubes.  
  
He sighed, and before he could censor himself he heard himself say, "Sometimes I really miss Lucius."  
  
There was a horrible moment when he had visions of being stripped of his Order of Merlin (First Class) and dragged off to Azkaban. Of all the people to admit to feeling sentimental about his Deatheater days, Miss Granger was the one least likely to be sympathetic.  
  
He was just reaching for his wand to cast a quick Obliviate, when the rather surprising admission came from beside him, "I know what you mean." Seeing his look of shock, she continued, "Not about Lucius obviously, the man was a monster. It's just occasionally I feel the urge to pick an argument with Draco. For old time's sake. He's an arrogant, obnoxious little shit with the personality of a crocodile and the charm and wit of a hyena, but he's reliable and predictable. He never lets you down."  
  
Snape's eyes flicked to Harry and Ron. He hadn't seen them together as much, it's true. A certain coldness appeared to have crept into their friendship during the course of the last year. He thought it best to let the matter drop. He didn't want a snivelling Gryffindor on his hands. He was bound to get the blame, for one thing.  
  
"Lucius was a complete and utter bastard," he said. "Don't get me wrong. But he was good value at dinner parties. Very amusing."  
  
She smiled wanly.  
  
Whatever she was going to say about Lucius, and it was sure to be wonderfully venomous was interrupted by Albus bustling up to the table to talk to them.  
  
"I'm glad to catch up with you two before dinner starts."  
  
"Albus," said Hermione.  
  
Albus was positively gushing about something and Severus carefully blocked the conversation out of his consciousness and contemplated the cleavage of a very attractive blonde a couple of seats away. He was jerked back into paying attention by the application of a foot to his shin, and the realisation that Albus was hinting at something too dreadful to contemplate.  
  
"It's nice to see you two getting on so well. You seem to be spending a lot of time together at these functions. It's good to see."  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Albus," said Hermione. Was there a little frost in her voice? Apparently there was.  
  
"Come now, Hermione, it's obvious you are made for each other," Albus said waggishly. "I must say I was hoping you two would come to your senses when I arranged the seating plan at last year's Yule Ball, and look at you now. I must say it's about time Severus stopped gadding around with all these women. He needs a proper relationship. I'm sure you'll be a steadying influence on him dear."  
  
Only an idiot would have taken the look of disgust they shared as fondness. Apparently Albus was an idiot.  
  
"You know you can't keep secrets from me, Severus. I suppose you are keeping it quiet because you are worried about Harry and Ron's reaction. I expect they will come round in time you know, but in the meantime you shouldn't allow anything to stand in the way of your happiness you know. Love is such a precious thing."  
  
"No, Headmaster, you've got it wrong. We're just friends," she said. That was news to Severus, but he supposed it was quicker than saying we're just people who cling together for some decent conversation in the face of all this Harry-worship.  
  
"Ah, indeed. A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse," and with that parting shot he wandered off to annoy someone else.  
  
He turned to look at Hermione in horror. Dear god. Steadying influence? Proper relationship? He liked gadding around with all these women. He hadn't had a lot of gadding over the course of the last ten years, and he rather thought he had a large gadding deficit to catch up on. He took a sip of whiskey to calm his nerves.  
  
"I have just had the most brilliant idea," she said slowly, in the tones of one making a great discovery.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Let's get engaged."  
  
He spat out his whiskey. He looked at her cautiously. There were no obvious signs of insanity. "Are you sure you are feeling well, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Just consider it for a moment," she continued. "You're bored. I'm bored. Think about it - all those times we've ended up sitting next to each other at these damned affairs were no accident. The old bastard has set us up yet again tonight."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"So I think we ought to play the old goat at his own game."  
  
She had piqued his interest. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
"I thought we could fall madly in love for the Christmas period. Think of the potential." He looked blank for a moment. What potential? Surely she didn't mean actual ahem intercourse. He cast a quick eye over her cleavage. Well, he supposed he could. She seemed to have all the right equipment. He'd never really considered shagging an ex-student, but he supposed it had a certain erotic appeal.  
  
"Potential?" he queried. Better to be safe than sorry. He didn't really fancy sitting through dinner with a hand print on his cheek, and that was assuming that she stopped there.  
  
"We suddenly fall overwhelmingly in love. We live in each other's pockets, and ostensibly shag like bunnies. Naturally things progress and we get engaged in a romantic fever. Then, come the New Year, we come to our senses and split up in a blazing row.  
  
"Think of the advantages," she continued. "We'd have a perfect excuse for leaving dull parties for a start. We pretend we are nipping off for a quick shag, but instead we can have a quiet evening in front of the fire with a good book and a decent bottle of wine."  
  
"True."  
  
"And everyone would be really horrified, and just think of the fun we can have with that. If someone is really annoying you, you could signal to me and I would come to your rescue. The faintest sign of affection between us and most people would be running for cover. And you could do the same for me."  
  
He could just picture Fudge's face the next time he started on one of his monologues on the state of the wizarding world and he was interrupted by Hermione holding his hand and calling him sweetheart. Truly nauseating stuff.  
  
"Lots of people we don't like very much would have to buy us engagement presents."  
  
"But when we split up we'd have to give them back."  
  
"I don't see why. We could divide the presents between us, and no one is going to intrude on our grief to ask for their toaster back, are they? But most importantly of all we would get Albus off our back for good."  
  
"Harry and Ron wouldn't like it," he offered.  
  
"That too."  
  
He could see one flaw though. "What reason do we give for splitting up?"  
  
She thought about it for a moment. "Obviously we would refuse to discuss what happened because it is too painful. You could drown your sorrows in cheap Firewhiskey and take up with expensive whores."  
  
"It's usually the other way round," he murmured distractedly. The idea had potential. Severus grinned like a shark that's just seen an Australian surfer's leg. "I like it," he said.  
  
So when Albus opened the dinner by asking everyone to raise a glass in a toast to Christmas, almost everyone was surprised to see Severus and Hermione smiling warmly as they wished each other a Happy Christmas.  
  
Harry nudged Ron. "Look at that, Snape's smiling. And at Hermione too. You don't think."  
  
Ron examined the happy couple. "Nah, mate. He's not smiling. It's just wind." 


	2. 2

Chapter Two  
  
Severus found that dinner passed quickly for once.  
  
They say that time flies when you are having fun, and there was nothing he liked more than a bit of plotting. He thought that if he were a better man he would have felt guilty about using Hermione to pay back the Terrible Two. Fortunately he was relieved to say that he wasn't a better man - it would get in the way of so much that was enjoyable in life. Anyway she seemed to be perfectly happy in the knowledge that their 'relationship' was going to annoy the pair of them. So his conscience, if he had a conscience, was clear.  
  
Hermione had a flair for the dramatic typical of her house, and if she had her way, they would have been snogging in the middle of the Great Hall by the end of the evening.  
  
"You Gryffindors have no subtlety at all," he said scathingly.  
  
"Severus, who the hell are we dealing with?" she replied with asperity. When he looked blank she continued, "Gryffindors. If we faff around with subtlety we will be waiting until next year for anyone to notice."  
  
He hated to admit she had a point. "What about Albus? He's bound to tell everyone we are at it like knives. He'll never be able to resist the temptation to boast about how he knew it was going to happen, and how we are made for each other, and how it is all his doing. He's worse than Trelawney for claiming credit for things that had absolutely nothing to do with him."  
  
"We just swore him to secrecy."  
  
"Bugger."  
  
"Do you have a problem with kissing me? Because we aren't going to get very far if you do. A certain amount of physical contact is necessary you know!"  
  
"That's not the point. You can hardly expect me to change the habits of a lifetime and start snogging in public."  
  
"Shy, Severus?" she mocked. "You certainly didn't seem to mind putting on a show for us all at the Hallowe'en Ball. You can hardly claim that you don't go in for public displays of affection after that!"  
  
He flushed a dull red. "That is completely different. I certainly didn't set out with the intention of being caught in flagrante." It wasn't his idea to have sex in the corridor, but the little witch had been most persuasive. She hadn't taken their subsequent discovery at all well, and still wasn't speaking to him. Not that he was disappointed about that, but it was very annoying to be blamed for something that wasn't his fault, was eminently predictable, and something he had indeed pointed out to her as a likely outcome. At the time, she had considered the possibility had added spice to the encounter. An opinion she changed very rapidly thereafter.  
  
"Although, if you want Ron and Harry to catch you being taken up against a wall I would be happy to arrange it," he said blandly. It was her turn to flush.  
  
"That won't be necessary, thank you," she said primly. "But a little . affection wouldn't be amiss."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. "Affection? Me?"  
  
"I am not going to be treated like on of those little tarts that keep hanging round the three of you. I have got more self respect than that."  
  
Severus had the feeling that he was skating on very thin ice. It seemed that at least part of the trouble between the three friends involved their active social lives. He quickly discarded the idea that she was jealous; there had never been anything like that between them. She had likely had to pick up the pieces of some young lade dumped after a one-night-stand once too often and taken them to task for their behaviour. Probably in very forthright language. He could just imagine them being stupid enough to take that for jealousy, and crassly stupid enough to tell her that.  
  
Prats.  
  
Hence, the cooling of the friendship and her sudden desire to get 'engaged'. There was surely little on God's earth more guaranteed to get under the skin of Harry and Ron than the thought of the two of them together.  
  
He felt quite indignant on her behalf. It was beyond shabby to have treated her in that way. Nearly ten years of friendship should have counted for more. He hadn't thought it possible to despise the Terrible Twosome more than he did, but she really deserved better than being given the cold shoulder whatever the reason for the split. She had saved their lives for Merlin's sake!  
  
And as someone who could count the number of living friends on the fingers of one hand, he thought that they were a pair of ungrateful bastards. So he would put on a good show, and demonstrate that someone else appreciated their friend, even if they didn't.  
  
Oh bugger was that a twinge of vermiform conscience?  
  
"Alright," he conceded. "I take your point. What I suggest is, we go our separate ways for the rest of the evening but cast longing glances at each other across a crowded room. If we do that in front of enough people someone is bound to take notice. Word will quickly spread and by the end of the evening everyone will be watching us to see what we do. I will drift over to you trying to look as shifty as possible, and we leave together. You spend the night in my rooms, and I think we can safely rely on the house elves and Albus to do the rest."  
  
"That should do it," she said after a moments thought. "We can always escalate things if people don't take the hint."  
  
"They're thick," he said dryly looking pointedly at her two erstwhile friends, "but they're not that thick. Oh, very well," he said, putting up his hand to forestall any further argument, "a quick peck on the cheek but I'm not holding hands in public. I still have to teach you know, and I'd never hear the end of it."  
  
She had smiled at that, as he had intended her to do. The truth was that any little bleeder that thought they could take advantage of him now he had a sex life was rapidly disabused of the idea. The young lad who had thought it amusing to ask questions about the proper technique for sex against a dungeon wall had regretted the impulse immediately and for a very long time. No one had ever received detention with Filch for an entire year before. He could start wearing pink robes and still terrify a classroom. In fact, merely wearing pink robes would probably be enough on its own.  
  
He found himself admiring her cleavage again. They really were very nice breasts. He was surprised he hadn't noticed them before.  
  
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she hissed.  
  
"Looking at your breasts," he said blandly.  
  
"What do mean . oh . sorry."  
  
He was delighted to discover that, whatever that twinge had been, apparently it wasn't conscience. Indigestion? There was no reason why he couldn't have a little fun at the same time as doing a friend a favour, was there?  
  
It appeared Hermione hadn't really thought through all the implications of their masquerade despite her brave words about a certain amount of physical contact. He looked forward to enlightening her over the course of the next fortnight. What was the muggle expression? Two birds with one stone  
  
Hermione became increasingly flustered as the evening wore on. Admittedly she had expected a degree of thawing in their relations, but not to the extent that she found herself being ogled over the dinner table like the last lamb chop in the butchers shop. For someone who had been keen on subtlety a few moments ago, he was now behaving with all the tact of a Weasley.  
  
She watched his face, whilst he watched her breathe. He was obviously enjoying himself immensely - and not just by admiring her form. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He was a twisty little Slytherin, and just because they were plotting together didn't mean he was suddenly going to turn honest and reliable. He was obviously up to something. Bearing in mind the way he was leering at her, it wasn't too hard to work out what.  
  
The only question was how far he was prepared to take it.  
  
He might just lead her on and make her look foolish or . well, he seemed to have had an affair with every witch below the age of forty, perhaps it was her turn? She had a sudden vision of the cheese counter at the supermarket, where you took a ticket and waited until the number was called out. Only this time the orderly queue was forming up outside Severus's rooms, she had ticket number 189, and there were a lot of witches in the line ahead of her.  
  
Hermione didn't particularly fancy becoming one of his many conquests, she was more the serious relationship sort of girl, but it couldn't be denied that he had a certain something. She had once heard someone remark, rather unkindly she thought, that with a face like that he had to be good in bed. But at least she had never heard that he left a trail of broken hearts behind him. Immensely satisfied witches, yes; weeping women, no.  
  
So she didn't want to be too flirtatious, but on the other hand she definitely had to do something to wipe the smug smile off his face. It would be a mistake to let him think he had the upper hand in any way.  
  
Gazing lovingly into his eyes wouldn't work. He would have to look up to notice what she was doing, and he didn't look like doing that anytime soon. Dinner was drawing to a close, and the other diners were beginning to form chattering groups in the middle of the floor, when she made her move.  
  
She casually rested her hand on his thigh, whilst leaning forward to whisper in his ear, "What time do you want to go to bed then?"  
  
He noticed where her hand was almost immediately. It took several seconds for the fact that she was talking to him sink in, a further few seconds for the implications of what she was saying to register, and even longer for him to come up with a response.  
  
"As soon as possible, I'd say," he said in his silkiest tones.  
  
She just smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and moved off. He watched her hips swaying as she crossed the floor to talk to some friends. At the very least there were going to be some very interesting games during their engagement At the most, well, if Miss Granger played her cards right, he might just let her seduce him after all. 


	3. bedtime

Chapter 3  
  
He watched her from afar like a dutiful swain for the rest of the evening.  
  
Nothing too obvious, but obviously discreet. In his long life a as a spy he had learned that if you wanted people to notice what you were doing all you had to do was try to be inconspicuous. People were in general obtuse, and didn't pay attention to their surroundings, other than to notice when something was manifestly out of place. What he was doing was the metaphorical equivalent of wandering around with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune, with body language that positively screamed don't look at me. It was tantamount to having a large arrow floating above his head, going, "ay ay, look at this once, he's up to no good."  
  
She didn't stay in any one group long. Just long enough for her to start chatting, falter, and then look wistful. She would complete the pose by glancing up at him longingly, sighing and then moving on. People would notice her actions, follow her gaze, do a double take and then stare in horror at the Potions Master.  
  
He saw the precise moment the boys realised what he was doing. Harry nudged Ron, they exchanged words and then started sniggering. He could just imagine the comments. Something to the effect that the Greasy Git had his eye on Hermione, and how even she wasn't that desperate yet. Arrogant, contemptuous little sods. Every time they opened their mouths they added to the temptation, no, the positive necessity to bring them down a peg or two.  
  
He made sure they were watching when he caught Hermione's eye and signalled to her that it was time to leave. He gave a flirtatious quirk of his eyebrow and cocked his head towards the door. She picked up her cue, and he was amused to see her flutter her eyelashes at him before assenting with a circumspect nod. The boys had clearly never seen her behave like that before, and gaped as she slipped out of the door. He followed a mere heartbeat behind.  
  
She was waiting for him just outside the door. "Did anyone see us?" she asked.  
  
"My dear, everyone in the hall saw us, and those who didn't see us will have been told about it within thirty seconds of our departure!"  
  
"Oh good. I'd hate to think all that hard work had gone to waste."  
  
His spy's instincts alerted him to the fact they were being watched. "Darling," he said in tones pitched to carry, "I don't know how I kept my hands off you this evening, you looked so delectable." Behind us, he mouthed. "How much longer will we have to keep this a secret?"  
  
She couldn't see who was watching them, but the most likely culprits would be either Harry or Ron. "Not much longer, darling," she broadcast to the watchers. "You know we have to wait until my parents are back from holiday before we announce our engagement. My parents really ought to be the first to know."  
  
"You know you've made me the happiest man alive?" They both struggled to contain their mirth at that particular cliché. He decided to go for broke. "I was jealous of every man you spoke to this evening, every casual touch of the arm you gave them and every smile. It should have been me by your side, me that you were smiling at. You are a beautiful goddess among women, my darling, and I wanted to worship at your feet."  
  
He was certainly good at this. She felt light-headed and short of breath and was on the verge of doing something incredibly silly, and not regretting it at all. He looked smug, as well he might, but she couldn't allow the balance of power to shift so far in his favour.  
  
"Do you use those lines on your other women?" she whispered mock- innocently.  
  
"Yes," he smirked.  
  
"Good god. However do you manage to get them into bed? Render them unable to resist due to laughter?"  
  
He pokered up, and for one minute she thought she had gone too far. He leaned in still further to whisper in her ear, and she prepared herself for more seduction by that silky voice. "Either that," he murmured softly, and her breath caught in her throat - what would he say next, what? - "or Stupefy."  
  
She snorted with laughter. Severus knew that the boys would find the sight of them sharing laughter more puzzling than the idea that they might be sleeping together. They still had the image of him as the dour Potions Master; furthermore, they thought they had the monopoly on laughing with Hermione. To find that privilege had been usurped would hurt them more than anything.  
  
He took Hermione's hand and placed it courteously in the crook of his arm. "Shall we go to bed?"  
  
"Yes, let's," and her voice was all breathy with laughter which, from a distance, could easily have been mistaken for passion.  
  
Any temptation to laugh was fading by the time Hermione was standing outside Snape's quarters. She felt oddly nervous, as if crossing the threshold was in some way committing her to something more profound than a practical joke. She had no doubt he would keep his hands to himself; he was a gentleman of sorts. What worried her was that she was no longer entirely certain she wanted him to, and Hermione had never been uncertain about much in her life before. Then she thought of Harry and Ron, and the harsh words they had spoken the last time they met; her back stiffened and she stepped through the door.  
  
Severus had been aware of her hesitation, and he could hazard a guess as to why she had decided to go through with the charade. He watched her look round the room, obviously curious to see what his private quarters were like. He knew that there was a great deal of speculation amongst the students She would not have been silly enough to expect a draughty and cold dungeon, nor, indeed, as some of the wilder rumours would have it, chains and skeletons; but neither would she expect the room to be decorated in red and gold. Gryffindor colours, no less!  
  
"Did you lose a bet with Professor McGonagall?" she asked, smiling. He smiled back; a soft, gentle smile quite unlike his usual smirk. Both the colours and the smile were unexpected, but made her feel more at ease, until she saw the door the to bedroom.  
  
"I assure you, you are perfectly safe with me," he said dryly, but with a faint note of irritation, and perhaps a little hurt.  
  
"Of course I am," she said warmly; seeing his look of polite disbelief, she continued, "It's just embarrassing, that's all. I hardly think that you are going to be overcome with wild, animal passion and make a pass at me; I'm just slightly worried that I might snore or something."  
  
She hadn't imagined his concern, or the infinitesimal relaxation in his body in response to her forthrightness.  
  
When she had been a child, despite her belief in him a fundamentally being on the right side, she would have scoffed at anyone who said Snape was sensitive about anything. He had always seemed so angry and bitter; it would be hard to imagine him being shy, or lacking in self-confidence in any way. "And besides, you haven't seen my pyjamas yet. That would kill any passion stone dead, I assure you."  
  
Thankfully the awkward moment, on both sides, seemed to have passed. "We'd better see about getting you your things from your room." He briskly summoned a house elf, and Hermione gave the order for her suitcase to be fetched from her room. Dobby had looked very surprised to see Hermione down in the dungeons, and even more surprised to find out that she was intending to stay there for the night.  
  
As far as Hermione was concerned, the gods were smiling on them. She could rely on Dobby to have the news round the castle within ten minutes, and Harry and Ron would almost certainly know what she was up to by breakfast.  
  
Severus went to a tall cupboard by the side of the fire, and brought out a bottle of what looked to be brandy. "Drink?" She nodded. She took a seat on the plush sofa, curling her feet up beneath her, and he handed her a glass. He took a seat next to her, and they both stared into the fire in silence for a couple of minutes.  
  
"So," she said, a little flirtatiously, "is this what you do with all your woman. Lure them back to your rooms, ply them with alcohol and then ravish them to within an inch of their life."  
  
He leaned back on the sofa, and settled himself more comfortably.  
  
"I don't bring any of my women here," he said sardonically, "you are the first."  
  
"I am honoured, then," she said, raising her glass to him in salute.  
  
She wondered idly why that was, but was distracted by him loosening the top buttons of his jacket. She watched in fascination; this was the most informal she had ever seen him. She suddenly realised how right the Victorians were about the erotic potential of the ankle: a mere glimpse of throat and neck, mercifully free of curling hair, and she felt quite warm.  
  
Dobby's arrival disturbed her reverie. She only hoped that she hadn't been too obvious; that would never do. She couldn't help but think that offering encouragement would only lead to trouble. She sighed.  
  
"I'll let you use the bathroom first," he said, waving an arm in the general direction of his bedroom. She assumed from this that the bathroom led off from his sleeping quarters. She quickly rummaged in her suitcase to find her pyjamas and her make-up bag, before heading off in search of privacy to change.  
  
She looked at herself in the mirror once she had finished. She saw a rather pink and flushed face surrounded by a mass of curly hair. She had come to terms with her hair now; not that she was better able to tame it; instead she had decided to give up trying and work with the curl. The pyjamas were as unsexy as she had described: large, flannel, pyjamas, covered in bunnies.  
  
It seemed Severus agreed. When she came back into the sitting room, clutching her clothes to her chest, he stared at her open-mouthed.  
  
"I did warn you," she said.  
  
"Let me guess, a present from the boys?"  
  
"Yes. How did you know?"  
  
He just raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
'Yes, well,' she thought. 'Who else indeed? Who else would make their opinion of her lack of sex appeal so blindingly obvious in the form of a gift?'  
  
"You really can't be seen by the house elves in the morning if you are wearing them you know. I have a reputation to maintain."  
  
She didn't make the obvious comment, although she was sorely tempted. He did have a point. "I have what you might call a company nightdress I could put on for the delight and edification of Dobby, but its far too chilly to actually wear it to bed."  
  
He seemed mollified by that, then his eyes came to rest on her clothes, and an evil smile flickered across his face.  
  
"What?" she said.  
  
"I was just thinking that we could give the house elves a real show. Let me see." he turned this way and that, seemingly checking trajectories and running through some imaginary seduction scene, ". we would sit on the sofa. We'd have a drink, then we'd probably start with a little light snogging. My jacket should come off here." He threw it across the arm of the sofa. "We'd move to go to the bedroom, I would obviously be overcome with excitement about here; so we should place your dress here." He plucked it from her arms and tossed it to the floor.  
  
She squeaked in outrage. "That's a very expensive dress."  
  
"Hermione, if you were in the grips of an overwhelming passion, would you stop in the middle to hang up your clothes?"  
  
"Probably not."  
  
"I can assure you, you definitely wouldn't."  
  
He looked very certain of himself. He was probably right. She decided to enter into the spirit of the thing. After all, there were charms to deal with creases, and house elves to deal with the tidying in the morning.  
  
"Well in that case, bearing in mind we were in the grips as you say, I don't think we would have made it off the sofa. Not the first time, anyway."  
  
He had an odd gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps you are right." He artistically re-arranged the dress on the floor, and then advanced on her. "If it was a particularly spectacular night, then rather more of your clothing would be scattered over a wider radius." She didn't resist as he took her underwear from her slack grasp, and then carefully took aim. Her bra ended up on caught on the edge of the cabinet by the fire, and her knickers were draped over a bust of what could have been Salazar Slytherin.  
  
She grinned. "Perfect. Now all you have to do is get changed, and then we'll do the same with your things." It may have been her imagination but his smile seemed to have dimmed a trifle at that.  
  
He was gone for barely ten minutes. When he returned he was swathed in a very smart green dressing gown. At least in this he was living up to his image. She didn't feel brave enough to do as he did, and so Severus arranged his own clothes around the room.  
  
"No underwear?" she asked, noticing that an important piece of clothing was missing from the tableau.  
  
"I don't wear any," he smirked.  
  
Well that answered the age-old question of briefs or boxers. She succeeded in keeping her eyes above his waist, but it was a hard fought battle.  
  
He stood back politely to allow her to enter the bedroom. The bed was enormous. She hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed to dominate the room. A four-poster, of course, hung with heavy velvet curtains.  
  
"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asked. He look puzzled. She remembered what he had said about her being the first woman in his quarters. "Ah, you sleep in the middle, you bed hog. Well tonight you have to pick a side. And no stealing the covers either."  
  
"The right hand side, then," he said.  
  
Decision made, Hermione slipped under the covers. She turned round just in time to see Severus remove his dressing gown and place it carefully over a chair at the side of the bed. He was wearing a long grey nightshirt; and he had the cheek to tease her over her nightwear. She bit her lip; she would not laugh. She had the feeling he would never forgive her.  
  
He got into bed and extinguished the lights with a simple Nox.  
  
She shivered. "God, it's cold in here. It's a wonder you don't get frostbite."  
  
"I'll warm you up if you like."  
  
"I beg your pardon."  
  
"A warming charm, Hermione, nothing more," she could hear the amusement in his voice.  
  
"I can manage that by myself, thank you," she said primly. She cast the charm nonetheless; it was a good idea.  
  
She wriggled around a bit trying to get comfortable. Something hard was pressing against her. "What is that poking into me?" "I don't know. Probably a book."  
  
"You sleep with books? I knew there was something I liked about you," she paused to give the follow up more punch, "other than your knees, of course." 


	4. Another book?

Hermione woke at her usual time, which was disgustingly early for a holiday. She had slept surprisingly well: the bed was comfortable and Severus didn't snore. The bed was comfortable, but it was old and the mattress dipped in the middle; at some point during the night, both of them had rolled towards the centre. They were now crowded together in an untidy heap of limbs. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, and his arm was draped round her waist.  
  
It was quite . cosy, really, not unpleasant at all, apart from the fact that there seemed to be another book digging in to her back. She reached between them to remove the offending object and found . THAT wasn't a book.  
  
Good God.  
  
She'd touched his . and it was . and . good God.  
  
Somewhere, beneath the fog of sleep, Severus was aware that someone had just touched him. He snuggled closer to Hermione's tense body, and said sleepily, "Not now darling, maybe later." His hand moved from her waist to settle on her breast, which he gave a gentle squeeze, before nuzzling briefly at her neck.  
  
Hermione was strongly tempted to make a break for freedom, but Severus's grip on her was so tight she didn't think she would be able to free herself without disturbing him; a sleeping Severus with an erection and a hand on her breast was preferable to a waking Severus with an erection and a hand on her breast.  
  
Probably. Possibly. Maybe.  
  
She couldn't deny that in his own particular way he was a very attractive man. He was capable of being charming when he wanted to, he had a marvellously sardonic sense of humour, and he definitely had a way with his hands. She just didn't think a liaison with him would be a good idea, and she certainly didn't think explaining this to him at 7 am would be a good idea at all, bearing in mind the location of his hand. There was a distinct possibility that she might not be able to get a word in before he began further exploration, and that could make any resistance short-lived.  
  
He was undeniably good with his hands.  
  
She was perfectly poised between resistance and encouragement, but her tension eased when it became clear that Severus wasn't going to venture further, and gradually she drifted back to sleep.  
  
When Hermione woke again it was late and she was alone, for which she was grateful. She didn't think she was up to dealing with Severus with her hair looking like a bird's nest or, indeed, until she had consumed a cup of tea. She suspected that he too would be unbearable first thing in the morning, and she would not have been enthusiastic about running the gauntlet of his formidable temper until he had had his morning tea, although they could always pass off the ensuing squabble as a lover's tiff.  
  
She padded into the bathroom for a wee, taking her 'company' nightdress with her. She quickly brushed out the worst of her hair - now she could pretend she looked tousled rather than as if she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. She hastily scrambled out of her pyjamas and slipped on the nightie. She hoped Severus would like it.  
  
For the sake of the house elves, of course, nothing else.  
  
It was chilly though, and her nipples looked like they could be used for drilling for oil, they were so hard; her goosebumps had goosebumps. She was damned if she was going to catch a cold, just so Severus could maintain his reputation with the house elves.  
  
She looked at her pyjamas longingly. They were warm, they were cosy, and they were completely out of the question. A warming charm it was, then.  
  
She sighed. Time to face the music.  
  
Severus was sat on the sofa clutching a scalding cup of tea, and staring into the fire. Hot, sweet tea was recommended for shock, and he had certainly been shocked to find himself practically shagging Hermione in her sleep this morning. He was just grateful she hadn't woken up; he hadn't fancied explaining he'd mistaken her for someone else through the bathroom door, where she would undoubtedly have bolted once she realised what was going on.  
  
Getting his face slapped was the very least he could have expected. He made a mental note to put her wand out of reach tonight, just in case there was a repeat performance tomorrow morning.  
  
Not that he was entirely sure he had mistaken her for someone else. After all, it was a gentleman's first duty to remember the name of the lady he had slept with the night before.  
  
They were, as he had suspected, very nice breasts indeed.  
  
Particularly when barely covered by a red silk nightdress, and she was very clearly feeling a bit cold and more than a bit uncertain. He felt a sudden surge of something, something other than the obvious, which in another, kinder man might have been called protectiveness. She looked so unguarded, so open to suggestion, and just waiting to be taken advantage of .  
  
He was more than willing, but the question was, was she?  
  
"Now you're up, I'll get the house elves to fetch breakfast," he said. "Is there anything you want?"  
  
"Not really, a bit of toast and some tea, that'll be fine."  
  
Dobby appeared in response to some unseen signal, and Severus gave his instructions, commenting to her that he was very hungry. She tried not to giggle at the implication. Once the house elf left, he patted the sofa next to him. "They'll be back soon; I think we should be looking cosy. The way the house elves gossip, it will be all round the castle by lunchtime."  
  
She took her seat next to him, carefully arranging her skirts around her, paying particular attention to make sure her feet were covered. Ostrich trimmed mules were all very well, but they were bloody parky. She had never understood why freezing to death was considered to be sexy; surely there had to be some halfway house between scantily-clad icicle and flannelette frump.  
  
Sod it, she thought, and kicked off the slippers, she wasn't going to lose her toes to frostbite just to score a couple of points with the boys. She tucked her feet beneath her, and found herself leaning towards Severus. He wanted cosy? Cosy is what he would get.  
  
Severus decided to up the ante and, very much in the manner of young muggle boys in the cinema, tentatively put his arm round her. He was warm, and that and that alone was the reason for her relaxing into his embrace. No, not the only reason; they had to put on a good show for the house elves.  
  
So she didn't resist at all when he moved to kiss her: nothing too aggressive, subtle and teasing. She moved closer to him, until she was half- sprawled across his lap, burrowing her hands into his hair. He flinched; her hands were cold. Serve him right.  
  
His hand was resting on her hip, shifting restlessly over the silk of her nightdress, whilst the other was twitching on the arm of the sofa. He knew where that hand wanted to be, where that hand had been earlier, but he didn't think that Hermione would let him get away with that.  
  
She didn't object when his tongue moved into her mouth; she welcomed it, and urged him on to greater endeavours. They only broke apart when Dobby apparated into his quarters with breakfast. They managed to convey the embarrassment of a couple caught in flagrante very convincingly. She almost felt sorry for the house elf; he was so apologetic for interrupting them.  
  
Hermione moved further away from Severus and quietly buttered her toast. She concentrated solely on the consumption of tea, toast, and jam for several minutes. Once she had finished, she headed off to the bathroom to get changed. At the door to the bedroom she stopped, and asked over her shoulder, "Severus, were tongues strictly necessary?"  
  
"I thought," he replied, smiling meaningfully, "it would add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative."  
  
She just laughed. "Indeed." 


	5. A walk down memory lane?

Severus was glad to see the back of Hermione, and not just for the sake of the view of her silk-covered rear; he needed time to think, and it was getting increasingly difficult to remind himself that Hermione was very clearly the marrying sort and was therefore out of bounds.  
  
He'd considered sleeping with her, was considering sleeping with her, but he had to face the fact that if he did, she may very well be the last woman he ever slept with.  
  
The frightening thing was that was becoming less and less of an unpleasant prospect as time went on. Truth to tell, it was only Hermione's acerbic presence that had made the constant round of parties and celebrations following the war bearable; he had come to value her as a friend, although he would deny it strenuously to anyone who asked.  
  
The only conclusion that he could come to was he had either to stop this silly game now, before either of them got any deeper, or play it for all it was worth.  
  
When Hermione returned, pleasantly flushed from her shower, he was on the brink of saying, gently, that the joke had gone far enough, when he heard his traitorous mouth enquire whether she might like to go for a walk into Hogsmeade.  
  
Apparently she would.  
  
When he got out of the shower, he was mildly disturbed to find himself worrying what to wear. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gave himself a very firm talking to. If, and it was a very strong if, he was going to pursue the idea of a relationship with Hermione, it was important to remember that they had known each other for nearly ten years and it was therefore probable that she had stopped noticing what he wore or what he looked like. Nor was there any point in trying to be charming or nice, she had known him for far too long to be taken in by that.  
  
So that meant he was fighting this fight, if he was fighting this fight, with both hands tied behind his back. It was rather depressing really.  
  
Still, on the bright side, the fact that they had known each other for nearly ten years meant that she could hardly claim to be unaware of his personality, and it had to be said that they had started spending a lot of time together at these events regardless of Albus's interference. It may be that she looked on him as a friend as well. Her reservations about a more permanent arrangement, if she had reservations, may be that she thought he was only interested in a quick fling.  
  
Which was entirely the point in question, what were his intentions: strictly dishonourable, mildly dishonourable, or entirely honourable?  
  
The only way to answer that was by spending more time with Hermione, getting to know her better, and allowing her to get to know him better: well, within limits. Obviously, it would never do for her to get to know him really well. If he kept snogging her senseless, she might never notice his faults, or begin to work out what was really going on. Keep her off balance, that was the answer. He smirked. That he could do.  
  
So he went out to offer Hermione his arm, and escort her to Hogsmeade, without ever noticing that in the space of ten minutes he had moved from 'whether' to 'how'.  
  
The walk to Hogsmeade was pleasant enough. The winter sun was bright but not warm, and Hermione seemed to find it necessary to draw closer to him to keep warm. He had no objections; there was something soothing about her presence, something comforting about another body next to his, and the quiet sharing of a winter's afternoon.  
  
Their peaceful camaraderie was shattered by the racket of Hogsmeade.  
  
By unspoken agreement they headed for the Three Broomsticks. Although Hermione was well past the age of drinking butterbeer, she had one for old time's sake, whilst Severus nursed a brandy.  
  
They were enjoying a spirited discussion on the latest article in Materia Alchemica - Hermione thought the author was a stupid fool who had rocks in his head, and Severus thought he was an incompetent moron - when Harry and Ron walked in.  
  
Hermione had her back to the door, so Severus was the first to notice that they had company. From the very pointed way they were ignoring Hermione it was clear to him that they had followed her there from Hogwarts: Dobby had done his job.  
  
He reached out across the table and took her hand. "Don't look now, darling," he said quietly, "but I think we are being watched?"  
  
Was that a flash of disappointment in her eyes? Did she really want him to hold her hand with no ulterior motive? Interesting.  
  
He had no chance to press his advantage though, not here and certainly not now, not when there could be doubt as to his motives. He watched her stiffen, and then consciously make herself relax.  
  
They continued their discussion about the article, but kept their voices low. Harry and Ron couldn't tell what they were talking about, but they could tell that Hermione was close to Severus. Very close.  
  
They watched carefully, trying very hard to give the impression that they weren't watching, for fifteen minutes, before they decided to call in back up.  
  
Ginny.  
  
Ron summoned her from another group where she had been chatting. She kept throwing glances over to Hermione and Severus before turning back to engage her brother in an animated discussion. From the shrug Harry gave, he could tell that she had been asking what on earth they thought was going on; when she headed over to their table a few minutes later, he knew that she had been sent to spy out the land.  
  
Gryffindors were about as subtle as a brick.  
  
"Hello, Hermione," said Ginny breezily, "I didn't see you there. How are things?"  
  
Hermione and Ginny made polite conversation for several minutes, whilst Ginny tried to find out what was going on. Eventually, her patience exhausted, she dived straight in, "So, you and Professor Snape are an item then?"  
  
"Miss Weasley," he said, putting as much of the classroom venom in as possible, "I fail to see why it is any of your business whether Miss Granger are an item, as you so vulgarly put it."  
  
"Now, now, Severus," said Hermione, laying her hand on his in a soothing gesture, "I'm sure Ginny is just pleased to see us happy, aren't you?"  
  
Judging from the look of horror on her face when Hermione touched him, the answer to that would appear to be negative.  
  
"Ye-es, of course," she stammered. It didn't take long for her to recover her composure though and decide to make the kind of tactless comment that Gryffindors in general, and Weasleys in particular were renowned for.  
  
"Well at least you managed to land one of your student crushes."  
  
Severus watched in horrified amusement as Hermione actually giggled, and said, "Ginny, you should know better than to give away my secrets like that; you'll have Severus think he can get away with murder." She giggled again, clasped his hand more tightly, and said, "isn't that right, darling? You know what these Slytherins are like."  
  
Severus was appalled. He hoped that Hermione didn't make a habit of giggling inanely like that, because if that was the case their relationship would be destined to be strangled at birth. He could, however, recognise a cue when he heard one, and in a spirit of mischief said, "you must tell me more Miss Weasley."  
  
There was a flash of irritation in Hermione's eyes, and a twitch from her hand as she instinctively tried to withdraw, and then overcame the urge.  
  
It appeared that there was an element of truth to this then, and wasn't merely some elaborate fantasy concocted by the Weasley girl to flush out the truth about them. This had the potential to be very amusing, although he suspected he might end up paying for it later.  
  
"Well," said Ginny, taking a seat at their table without an invitation, "it all started in your seventh year, didn't it Herms?"  
  
Severus thought the fulminating glance thrown at Ginny was more to do with the shortening of her name, than any potentially embarrassing revelations.  
  
"Harry and Ron noticed that you were increasingly distracted in potions classes, you didn't seem to be able to concentrate. Oh, they didn't want to say anything, but they worked it out. You obviously had a crush on Professor Snape, and here you are! Isn't it romantic?" she gushed.  
  
Severus didn't believe that little story for a minute, and said so. "I'm sure I would have noticed if Hermione's work had suffered in any way in her seventh year," he said dismissively, "so why don't you go back to your brother and your friend and tell them that Hermione and I only became involved during the course of the last year or so, and that they, and you, should stop your feverish imaginations from running overtime thinking that there was any romance between us whilst Hermione was still a student. Frankly, I find the whole idea offensive; Hermione had her mind on much more important things at that time, as did I."  
  
Ginny left in a huff; but she could quite clearly be seen trotting over to the boys to make her report.  
  
"Silly cow," he said.  
  
He was rewarded by Hermione throwing back her head and laughing; a rich, warm laugh that made everyone in the pub stop, just for a second, and stare.  
  
"It's true that I didn't spend my time mooning over you in potions classes," she said warmly, "but for once in their self-absorbed little lives they weren't far wrong, you know."  
  
"You mean you did have a crush on me?" he said in some surprise.  
  
"No, not a crush as such. I certainly didn't think of turning up to detention in a short skirt and fluttering my eyelashes at you; but the boys weren't very happy with me when I stuck up for you. I did admire you for what you were doing, and they couldn't understand that at all. It was easier for them the dismiss it as some hormonal imbalance, and just a silly phase I was going through, then to face up to the fact that I respected you. You really were all that I thought Lockhart was: brave; determined; resourceful; clever."  
  
He felt flustered; he expected he looked flustered. Actually, he suspected he might be blushing slightly. Hermione had neatly turned the tables on him by telling him how she had really felt as a schoolgirl. He felt immensely gratified that in that difficult time, before the Order of Merlin and his rehabilitation, there had been someone who had appreciated him.  
  
"I often wish I'd said something at the time," she said.  
  
"I would have just snapped at you," he replied.  
  
"I know, but it would have been worth it if it would have made you feel valued, if it would have mean something to you."  
  
"It means something to me now," he said, a little shyly.  
  
She ran her thumb backwards and forwards across the back of his hand. "I'm glad."  
  
They exchanged smiles and then returned to their discussion of the article. She didn't let go of his hand though, and both of them realised that something had changed for good between them.  
  
It only remained to be seen where that change would lead them. 


	6. The boyz

Hermione and Severus had gone their separate ways after lunch at the Three Broomsticks by unspoken and mutual agreement. They both felt the need for a little breathing space, to consider whether they wanted to draw back from the precipice which they seemed to be hurtling inexorably towards.  
  
Hermione sat at the desk in her room and toyed with her quill. In times of uncertainty she would fall into the comfortable habits of her youth: define the problem, select possible solutions, analyse the alternatives, and then come to a conclusion. They boys had sneered at her for applying these techniques in such a way; they thought that feelings couldn't be dissected and laid open like that, you either felt something or you didn't.  
  
They were right, to an extent. You couldn't draw up a list with the pros and cons of pursuing Severus - or standing still while he pursued her - tot up each column and announce that the pros had won. Or cons, as the case may be. It did help to clarify the issues, though, to pin down precisely what worried her.  
  
So, she liked Severus as a companion, she certainly didn't object to the prospect of sharing a bed with him, her only concern was exactly how serious he was about this.  
  
She couldn't be sure, but she thought that the fact he wasn't trying to seduce her was encouraging. Perhaps it meant that he was taking her seriously; it could equally well mean that he thought her out of bounds because she wasn't 'that' kind of witch.  
  
What this boiled down to was that the ball was firmly in his court. It was up to him to make the first move, at least for now, although there was nothing to stop her changing her mind later. If the worst came to the worst she could simply get him into bed and keep him there until he gave in to her.  
  
She was tempted to try that anyway - it sounded like fun.  
  
She moved to lie on the bed and ran through several seduction scenarios in her head. She was a girl who liked to plan ahead. She had the tactical advantage that she was obliged to snog him on a regular basis, and that they were already 'sleeping' together.  
  
As far as she could see it was only a matter of time before he caved in.  
  
Her musings were disturbed by a knock. She opened the door, feeling a little annoyed that someone should have interrupted her train of thought when it was just getting interesting, to be confronted by the boys. It did nothing to improve her mood. She was strongly tempted to tell them to bugger off; she had more important things to deal with - like what she was going to wear tonight to knock Severus's socks off.  
  
The boys didn't seem to notice that she wasn't pleased to see her, or perhaps they simply didn't care. They barely waited for an invitation before coming in to the room.  
  
"Make yourselves at home," she said pointedly, as Ron sat on the edge of her bed and Harry took the only chair in the room.  
  
"Thanks Hermione," said Ron simply, although it wouldn't do to take that at face value. Ronald Weasley might be able to fool the average witch but she was made of sterner stuff. He'd cultivated that slightly dim exterior as protective colouring to survive in his large and boisterous family, and then found it worked to get him out of all sorts of situations in the real world. 'Oh sorry I dropped this plate, perhaps you ought to do the washing up charm, I don't seem to be very good at it.'  
  
Well, that applied in the days when he bothered having girlfriends anyway. Nowadays he just relied on his facile charm to get into someone's bed, and then left them as soon as they got 'clingy' as he put it; or treated as anything other than a mattress as she put it.  
  
Sometimes she wondered if she had ever really liked Harry and Ron or whether circumstances had thrown them together so that they had no choice to get along. She wondered if there had been some secret part of the prophecy - and a bushy haired girl will do all of the Hero's thinking for him, get none of the credit, and can be discarded once she ceases to be useful. To be fair the rest of the world had given her credit for her work in defeating Voldemort. It was the boys who hadn't thought her contribution was important or worthwhile: an inconvenience they had had to protect and worry about was the way they looked at it.  
  
Hermione's silence was unnerving the boys; they found the quiet oppressive. Neither of them was given to reflection or contemplation, and spent most of their lives generating as much bustle and hubbub as possible.  
  
"We haven't seen you around much lately," said Harry abruptly.  
  
"No," she replied. "I rather got the impression that you didn't want to have anything to do with a, how was it you put it Harry, an 'uptight bookworm who was just jealous because she wasn't getting any herself', that was it."  
  
The boys looked uneasy, not expecting such a cold reception.  
  
"You shouldn't have taken it to heart, Hermione. We all say things in the heat of the moment that we don't mean," said Ron, trying to smile at her.  
  
"It seemed heartfelt at the time," she countered. "And if you didn't mean it, I would certainly have expected an apology."  
  
There was a pause, whilst the boys looked at each other, trying to communicate with each other by means of mind reading. Which would have been more successful if mind reading existed, or either of them had a brain to read.  
  
Hermione had a sudden image of Severus rummaging around in Harry's head and extracting various thoughts for inspection. She could see the sneer on his face as he discarded first one then another. "Just as I thought. Quidditch. Girls. Quidditch. Girls. Quidditch. Utterly devoid of interest."  
  
The faint smile on her face encouraged Ron to think she was warming to them, that the old habits of friendship would override the pain of their last meeting.  
  
"Well, of course we're sorry," said Harry easily, "that goes without saying."  
  
"Does it?" she said dryly, but the comment went over their heads.  
  
There was a pause whilst Ron mentally reviewed his repertoire of techniques for 'handling the ladies' to find the one most suitable for smoothing Hermione's feathers. He essayed a weak grin, coupled with puppy dog eyes, which had melted many a heart before Hermione's, but failed to have any effect on her. She had seen it all before.  
  
"So," began Harry with the air of mentioning something almost too inconsequential to bother with, in the way someone asks for a pay rise or a promotion, "I hear that you're seeing Snape."  
  
"You saw that for yourself in Hogsmeade, and what you didn't see, no doubt Ginny told you."  
  
"Damn it, Hermione, we were worried about you," Ron blurted out. "I know we said you should get yourself a man in your life but I mean, Snape of all people."  
  
"I like Severus," she said, laying careful emphasis on his first name, "so I suggest you stop before you say something I'll make you regret."  
  
The boys exchanged amused glances, which quickly faded under Hermione's glare.  
  
"What on earth can you see in him?" said Harry. "He' so ugly and nasty. He made our lives hell at school."  
  
"Actually, Harry he made your life a hell at school, not mine, and I find him to be a pleasant and interesting companion and the best lover I've ever had."  
  
Both boys flinched at that. In a spirit of mischief she continued, "He's so attentive and experienced, why only last night.."  
  
"Hermione!" they chorused plaintively.  
  
"I don't want to hear the details, please stop," begged Ron.  
  
Again an attempt at non-verbal communication, and a sudden change in tack.  
  
You know we both just want you to be happy," said Harry softly, as if he were talking to a wild animal that needed to be soothed.  
  
"But are you sure that Snape is the one to make you happy?"  
  
That had been precisely the thing she had been turning over in her mind before the boys had interrupted her calm; it was, very much the question in point. She stood in the middle of the room, flanked on either side by her oldest friends watching her with worried expressions, and she realised that the answer was very much 'yes'.  
  
The broad smile that spread over her face was all the answer the boys got, but it was all the answer they needed.  
  
"Well," said Ron heavily, "just don't come crying to us when it all goes wrong."  
  
"Don't be like that Ron," chided Harry, "I'm sure Hermione and Severus will be very happy together."  
  
Hermione was so distracted by her rosy dreams of a future with Severus which, to be honest, hadn't proceeded much further than that evening and her planned seduction, that she didn't notice the 'later' Harry mouthed in response to Ron's look of shock.  
  
"We can see you've got things to do," said Harry easily, "so we'll leave you to it. We'll catch you later, perhaps this evening?"  
  
"What? Oh, yes: this evening. Perhaps." Hermione was wondering whether she should wear the pink or the gold dress, and barely noticed them leave. It was several minutes after they had gone before she suddenly realised that that had been far too easy.  
  
What were they up to? 


	7. coming clean

Of course, Hemione's formidable brain could only be distracted by thoughts of romance for so long. Once the critical decisions had been made – gold dress, matching shoes, and an amber necklace to draw attention to her breasts, which could be overkill bearing in mind how much he had stared at them before – and she was luxuriating in a hot bath – Witch Celandine's patented Bath Salts for Romance – the boys' easy acquiescence came back to her.  
  
Too easy.  
  
Either they really didn't care about her and Severus – hah! – or, more likely, they were up to something. Running through their parting words in her mind, she downgraded that from 'up to something' to 'heading off to plan being up to something'.  
  
She'd better warn Severus, so that they could decide what to do about it. It was unlikely that they could do anything too terrible, other than stand around and watch, but it wouldn't do to get complacent. They ought to keep an eye on the pair of them. That decision made her mind was free to sink back into pink, fluffy dreams. Although, to be fair, the dreams may have involved a fair bit of pinkness, they were slightly too carnal to strictly qualify as fluffy. She couldn't imagine Severus being romantic at all, not in the hearts and flowers sense of the word anyway, although she had a strong feeling that when he let his guard down he could be as soppy as the next man, soppier, probably, as he had gallons of unused soppiness just waiting to be used up on the right woman.  
  
And that woman had better be her, or bloody murder would be done.  
  
Her images of their life together hadn't moved much further than the bed, occasionally the sofa, and being taken ever-so-slightly-roughly over the desk in his room. She supposed some talking, eating and sleeping would also be factored in to their relationship, but that wasn't what she was dreaming about. She knew what that aspect of their lives would be like; they had been in a relationship of sorts for nearly six months, gradually moving from teacher and student, to the relief of finding someone else who thought these parties were a waste of time, to guarded respect, until they had reached the stage of a unanticipated – and hitherto unacknowledged - friendship.  
  
What had previously been a mystery, and one she had very carefully not thought about, perhaps because he had been her teacher, or perhaps because he had been so generous with his attentions to the world at large, thus putting him into the same category as the boys – what was Severus like in bed – was a puzzle she was now a lot closer to solving. She had been surprised to find that, after being characterised by the boys as 'a sexless dried up old prude, heading the way of McGonagall', that her fantasies had suddenly burst into life in such a florid way.  
  
She dressed quickly, and was ready a good forty-five minutes in advance of dinner. She decided to head down to the dungeons to find Severus. Her excuse was that she wanted to talk to him about the meeting with the boys; the truth was she wanted to have her reunion with him away from prying eyes. Whatever went on between her and Severus was private, and should stay that way.  
  
It was peculiar conducting a courtship and a mock-courtship at one and the same time; when Severus opened the door to her tentative knock she was uncertain whether she should move forward and kiss him. If she did, would he think it was part of the game with the boys, or would he think it was part of the game between them. In the end, she decided to claim her territory, and worry about whether the territory realised it had been claimed later.  
  
She needn't have worried. Severus was too busy admiring her necklace to think about anything complicated, and so when she stepped forward into his arms, they closed around her reflexively and he was kissing her before his brain made any conscious decision.  
  
He was aware that any chance he had of hiding his attraction to Hermione whilst he worked out what he wanted to do about that attraction had been blown in that moment; he was also aware that he didn't much care. There were no house elves about, and, unless Potter was hiding somewhere under his Invisibility Cloak, neither were the boys. This meant she had kissed him because she had wanted to kiss him; the territory did indeed realise it had been claimed, and was tentatively pleased about this, although it was reserving final judgement.  
  
When he – finally – raised his head, he could see that her smile, whilst warm, was also faintly triumphant. Ah, she too had been contemplating tactics, and he rather thought he knew what they were; great minds did think alike after all. It wouldn't do to let her think that he hadn't seen through her ploy though.  
  
"I was going to try the same tactic," he said softly into her ear. "Keeping you off balance so you wouldn't notice what was going on."  
  
He could feel her smile on his cheek rather than see it, and she said, equally softly, "We could be off-balance together."  
  
He leaned back a little, and she was treated to a rare, crooked smile from Severus. "I think I'd like that."  
  
When she moved to kiss him again, he put a finger to her lips, and said, "No more of that, not just yet anyway. I want to hear all about your visitors this afternoon." He sat on the sofa, and patted the cushion next to him invitingly.  
  
"Have you been taking lessons from Dumbledore?" she asked, moving to sit in the space indicated, and then moving a little closer.  
  
"You hardly need to reach Dumbledorean peaks of omniscience. Those two are eminently predictable, not to mention the fact that the portrait guarding your door is a terrible gossip. What did they say?"  
  
Hermione didn't think it would be sensible to tell Severus they thought he was old, ugly and nasty, so she merely said, "They seemed to take it very well, wished me all the best for the future, and said they were sure we would be happy together." It wasn't entirely a lie: merely editing.  
  
"I see," he said. "That sounds unlikely." There was a faint note in his voice that suggested he didn't entirely believe her.  
  
"I think they were trying to be clever," she replied. "They know me well enough by now to know that if they tried to bully me into doing something I would dig my heels in. So I think they decided to play it softly, softly, and give themselves time to think of a plan."  
  
There was an infinitesimal relaxation in Severus's demeanour: that he did believe.  
  
"What makes you think that?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, the way they kept waggling their eyebrows at each other, they were trying to look sincere and merely looking shifty, and I'm sure I saw Harry mouth 'later' at Ron, all the standard signs that those two are plotting," she said airily.  
  
He gave a little huff of laughter. "I wonder what they have in mind?"  
  
"Who cares? We'll sort it out when it happens. In the meantime, we've got twenty minutes until dinner," she said, "and I can think of much more interesting things we could be doing than talking about Harry and Ron," and promptly did them.  
  
Severus didn't object.  
  
They were late for dinner, and they very nearly didn't make it at all. She had ended up in the same position as that morning, sitting in his lap, his hand again on her hip. This time he felt emboldened to move his other hand, the one that had been so left out before, from its position on the arm of the sofa to finally touch her breast: subtle at first, the lightest of caresses; then more purposeful, until he pinched a tensed nipple.  
  
She made a little mewling sound of pleasure into his open mouth, and he was almost overwhelmed by the need to push her onto the floor and possess her. She wasn't the only one who wanted to mark their territory.  
  
It was a frighteningly primitive feeling for someone who had always conducted his previous liaisons courteously but essentially with detachment. They found themselves forehead to forehead, gasping for breath, and struggling with a decision.  
  
"Dinner?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she said. "Dinner."  
  
Their arrival, late, flushed and giggling - at least on Hermione's part, Severus was determined to maintain his dignity - was noticed by the boys, and strengthened their resolve.  
  
Something must be done! 


	8. dinner and some flirting

Dedicated to the DivineMissM/Michmatch.  
  
Dinner seemed to be taking ages tonight, mused Hermione. There had been the usual five courses to negotiate – soup, fish, meat, desert, and cheese and port - but it appeared that each course was taking much longer than last night. Even when dinner was over they wouldn't be free; they would be expected to hang around and talk to dull people about dull things. Didn't they realise that she had more interesting places to be, and much more interesting things to be doing?  
  
They had carefully chatted about nothing in particular, but as the dinner was winding to a close all she could think about was the night ahead. Ordinarily she would have regarded the chocolate mousse with a lot more enthusiasm; tonight she had other things on her mind.  
  
"Patience," came a deep voice to the right of her, "is a virtue."  
  
Hermione nearly choked on her mousse. It couldn't be denied that that voice was incredibly sexy, and it couldn't be denied that he knew that very well, not to mention the fact that all his skills at reading minds seemed to be in place. Not that Legilimency would be necessary to work out where her mind had been for the last hour or so, bearing in mind the covert glances she kept giving him and the way she was fidgeting.  
  
Well, playing games could help pass the time; if she played them well enough he might not be quite so keen on that second glass of port. So it was time to get back in touch with her inner minx, and play the game for all it was worth.  
  
A hand on the thigh had worked so well before; it was worth trying again. A light touch, nothing too obvious, then leaning in and asking, sotto voce, so he in his turn had to lean in to hear her, "Don't you think that being virtuous is over-rated?"  
  
There was the faintest flare of his nostrils as he considered the implications of that, and then he retaliated. "I don't know," he said, with every appearance of considering the question carefully, "whilst immediate gratification is always welcome, sometime it's so much better to take things slowly and carefully. Attention to detail is so often vital."  
  
Hermione reckoned that was about one all; and didn't that sound intriguing?  
  
"I do agree, Severus. Sometimes the small things in life are so important and easily overlooked."  
  
That was 2-1 to her; not that she was keeping score.  
  
"Indeed, Hermione; conversely one shouldn't overlook the wood for the trees."  
  
2-2.  
  
Although, bearing in mind what he was hinting at, that was probably another point for her anyway.  
  
A spirit of mischief moved within her. "What sort of tree?" she asked. "A dwarf conifer, a young birch, or a hundred-year-old oak?"  
  
"A giant redwood," he offered blandly.  
  
Definitely a point to him, she thought, as she started laughing, her face lit up by happiness.  
  
Severus looked down at her, his brows drawn together in mock offence. He had suggested that they come to dinner instead of proceeding to a mutually pleasurable conclusion because he wasn't completely certain that embarking on a relationship with Hermione was the right thing to do; and Hermione deserved nothing less than complete certainty.  
  
Not to mention the number of nasty hexes she knew if he slept with her and then changed his mind.  
  
He didn't know what had suddenly made him so certain, what had tipped the balance, but whatever it was had happened; something incalculable had seized hold of his heart and twisted it. There was nothing to be done about it. His last chance to back out had gone somewhere along the line and he hadn't even noticed it passing him by.  
  
Which made him feel strangely giddy.  
  
He turned hot, predatory eyes on Hermione and her smile faded. Breathing was suddenly very difficult, and she felt like someone had cast Stupefy on her. It was intolerable that they should be sitting here, pushing their desserts round their plates, when she could be being snogged into oblivion elsewhere.  
  
"Do you think they would notice if we slipped under the table?"  
  
For a second he thought she was joking; then he realised that she was in deadly earnest. He was being such a bad influence on her. He wanted to find out quite how much of a bad influence on her he could be. "Yes," he hissed, though whether he meant that they would be noticed or expressing his approval of the idea wasn't entirely clear. Probably the former: Severus knew, without looking that the boys were watching them, their little beady eyes constantly assessing what they were up to.  
  
"Then we'll just have to try something else," she said, her mind testing and discarding possibilities, until she hit on the perfect solution.  
  
Turning to her neighbour, on the other side to Severus, who she had been rather rudely neglecting for the evening, she put a hand dramatically on her forehead and faltered, "Madam Pomfrey, I'm afraid I don't feel very well."  
  
Fortunately for Hermione, Madam Pomfrey wasn't the sort to take offence at being ignored, and had spent often enough patching Severus up during the war years to be pleased he had found a little happiness, or presumably was about to.  
  
"You do look a little fevered, dear. Perhaps you ought to have a little lie down."  
  
Hermione was grateful Madam Pomfrey had picked up the hint, and was only mildly embarrassed to find herself being winked at.  
  
"I think you're right," she said gratefully. That would allow her to make a break for freedom; it was up to Severus to find his own method of leaving early. It wouldn't be as difficult for him, as no one expected him to be polite and linger to chat to people anyway.  
  
She had reckoned without the kindly intervention of Madam Pomfrey, who leaned across her and said, "Severus, Miss Granger is feeling a little unwell. Would you be kind enough to provide her with one of your marvellous headache potions?"  
  
Hermione thought she would treasure the frozen expression on Severus's face for a long time. It wasn't quite shock, and it wasn't quite amusement, but some bizarre combination of the two.  
  
"I'd be only too happy to oblige Miss Granger," he said, all bland indifference on the surface, and all suggestive promise beneath.  
  
Hermione reminded herself very firmly that smirking would give the game away, people with migraines didn't go around with broad smiles on their faces, and schooled her features into a more suitable expression of pain. Her expression wouldn't have looked out of place on someone dying of consumption.  
  
"You're too kind, Severus," she sighed. She bravely tried to rise to her feet, and staggered artistically. "I'm afraid I feel a little weak; do you think you could help me to my rooms?"  
  
He pasted a look of irritation on his face, and then dutifully offered his arm to her. They made their way to the door – not deigning to reply to Madam Pomfrey's instruction to lie down as quickly as possible, and perhaps Severus could help her loosen some of her clothes – swiftly, but without giving the impression of undue haste.  
  
Unfortunately, their quickest route to the door brought them past the boys.  
  
And, life being what life is, they didn't manage to sneak past them without being noticed. Harry and Ron rose to their feet, and blocked their route to the door. They applied a pincer movement so that they were trapped between the two of them, and began a staring contest with Severus.  
  
Hermione couldn't remember when she had seen a sight so ridiculous; who did they think they were? Severus was hardly likely to take them seriously. He had been menaced by the best, including Voldemort himself and Lucius Malfoy, who Hermione had privately considered to be the more dangerous. It's hard to take someone seriously when they had red glowing eyes, scaly skin and a tendency to hiss; Malfoy, on the other hand, plugged straight into all the Nazi stereotypes in war films and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.  
  
"Where are you off to so early," asked Ron, seemingly pleasantly, but with what he fondly imagined was a hint of steel in his voice.  
  
Hermione was strongly tempted to inform them that she was nipping off for a shag, just to see the looks on the boys' faces. However, in the interests of keeping calm – Severus and not the boys – she merely replied that she was feeling a trifle ill and that she needed to lie down.  
  
The boys exchanged looks; they clearly weren't buying it. Not that, she thought, it was any of their business anyway; so why didn't they just sod off out of it? She found her hand moving towards her wand; she was prepared to help them sod off out of it, if they didn't take a hint soon.  
  
Only Severus noticed what she was doing; the boys were oblivious. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I know it's tempting to hex them, but may I remind you that Azkaban is cold and nasty, and being sent there could put a crimp in our plans for the evening."  
  
It was nice to see that someone was deriving some amusement from the situation. She nodded, and allowed her wand to fall back into her sleeve. By the look on their faces, the boys had not enjoyed that moment of intimacy at all.  
  
Harry said, "Don't you think you should see Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"She already has, you stupid boy."  
  
Harry flushed a dull red. Severus's tone brought back the humiliating memories of Potions classes, and being berated for nothing more than being a Potter. Which was of course the point: Auror Harry, Harry who defeated Voldemort was a power to be reckoned with. Potter was a mere schoolboy who counted for nothing, and Potter was the sort of schoolboy who went off half- cocked, made mistakes, and, crucially, had a habit of flapping his trap before thinking.  
  
"Don't call me a stupid boy, you greasy git," he snarled in reply. Of course, if he had been thinking he would have realised that was a fatal mistake, that Hermione had no hesitation in capitalising on.  
  
"Harry!" said Hermione, "I'm shocked to hear you speak to Severus in such a way. I want you to apologise, now."  
  
"I'm not – you can't expect me to – apologise to that bastard," spluttered Harry.  
  
"I can and I do," she said firmly. "And I don't want to hear another word out of you until you do," then she swept off majestically. Severus only paused to smirk at the boys in triumph before gliding after her. He waited until he was through the door before he broke into a trot to catch up with Hermione; he didn't want to lose his dignity, but he also didn't want to lose sight of Hermione, although he had to admit the way that dress was moving was very enticing.  
  
Hermione realised that she had left Severus behind and paused to allow him to catch up. She turned to say something about the boys being idiots, and that she hoped they hadn't spoiled the mood when he pounced. Four long strides brought him to her, she barely had time to draw breath, and then she was pinned to the wall, with his long body pressing against her in a way that was almost painful.  
  
Any half-hearted intention of complaining was abruptly smothered when he began kissing her with a passionate intensity that was at once exhilarating and a little frightening.  
  
She lost all sense of time and place; all her concentration was focussed on the overwhelming assault on her mouth, and it was only when he raised his head that she realised there was a very large stone digging into her back, her neck hurt, and at some point tomorrow she was going to have a lovely bruise on her elbow where it had been pushed into the wall.  
  
All that seemed to be of negligible importance compared to the fact that he had stopped kissing her, and now was looking at her with that same expression that he had turned on her earlier.  
  
What breath that remained to her was stolen by his next words.  
  
"I'm going to show you that patience really is a virtue." 


	9. bed and a bath

Severus's intentions were good, if dishonourable. He wanted to devote his considerable expertise, honed to perfection over the last couple of years, to ensure Hermione's complete and utter satisfaction.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she had other ideas.

Instead of a quick progression to his rooms, the leisurely removal of clothes, and a prolonged exploration of each other's bodies, there had been innumerable stops along the way for the kinds of activities that would lead to deduction of points in his students.

The first time, he had felt slight concern that he might be seen; the second time, there had been a fleeting concern for his buttons as she had commenced a very determined attack on his jacket; the third time, it was only the sound of voices that had prevented them from consummating their relationship against a dungeon wall.

They finally arrived at his rooms in a very dishevelled state. His jacket was undone, his shirttails tugged free, his flies were half undone, and Hermione was in no better state. Her robes were undone, her underwear had been charmed off, and her hair was tousled and dishevelled.

He'd barely managed to shut the door behind him behind him, before she was launching herself on him again. He wondered fleetingly, before her fingers moving back to his fly reclaimed his attention, whether this was a Gryffindor thing. He didn't think that he'd ever had sex with a Gryffindor before; he'd dismissed them as being clumsy and pedestrian. Now he was rapidly reassessing that opinion; untutored enthusiasm had its benefits.

It was true that the hand scrabbling at his fly was taking too long to find its goal, but when it did, he felt his knees buckle.

"Bed?" he asked.

"God idea," she replied, and he could see her point; the bed was looking very friendly at the moment.

There was an undignified scramble to the bedroom, both of them reluctant to stop kissing, coming to rest on the bed with Severus half sprawled on top of her. He was determined to regain the initiative, and took the opportunity to pin her hands above her head. She wriggled, a little impatient at the restriction, until he placed his mouth close to her ear and said, "Now, now Miss Granger, you know it takes time to brew a good potion."

"My dear Professor, at the moment I want to subscribe to the Longbottom method; throw everything into the cauldron and just wait for the explosion."

Ordinarily the mention of Neville's name would have been enough to dampen, if not douse completely, the fires of passion; this time, it had the opposite effect. Refusing to release her hands, not that she was struggling much, the other hand was pulling up her robes. She was obligingly using her feet to push his trousers off his hips, and then he was driving into her, with long, powerful thrusts, her hips rising to meet him.

The small part of his brain still capable of conscious thought was aware that she was making encouraging noises, which died away to wordless whimpering, then a long drawn out wail as she came, wrapping her legs round him to pull him closer. He managed the few snaps of his hips necessary for him to join her, and then slumped, exhausted and panting, on top of her.

He didn't think anything for a long time, just laid there, all languorous and limp. When his brain kicked back into life, spluttering and protesting, he realised that he must be squashing Hermione, and her lack of protests may well be due to lack of breath. His dutiful attempts to move were halted when she protested, and they remained curled together in sated contentment.

Hermione wriggled around a little, gave a jaw-breaking yawn and apparently fell asleep, leaving Severus hovering between amusement that she'd taken the man's role, relief that she hadn't wanted to talk about his - or her – feelings, and feeling slightly cheated and a little foolish for feeling cheated.

But wasn't there supposed to be some expression of appreciation or affection, or something? He supposed he should feel grateful she had stopped short of farting and rolling over. He debated whether to discreetly elbow her in the ribs, and prompt her to massage his ego. The plan was only aborted when the burrowing animal that was Hermione, wriggled a little closer, snaked an arm round him and mumbled something about 'Severus', 'wonderful' and 'darling'.

He chose to take that as the required glowing praise, tucked his arm possessively over her and drifted off to sleep.

When Severus woke the next morning he found himself in the same delightful position as the day before, only this time it would be reasonable to assume that he didn't have to remove any offending limbs, members or digits before Hermione woke.

She was warm, and soft, and he'd never noticed before quite how chilly his bedroom was. It made him reluctant to make the dash to the loo his bladder was calling for.

It was pleasant to wake next to a woman and not have to worry about what to say, or trying to make as fast an exit as possible before the young lady in question made enquiries as to breakfast, lunch and dinner; what he was doing next week; and began mentally picking out curtains for his quarters. He liked his curtains as they were, thank you very much; pretty much liked his life as it was, and hadn't seen any reason to change it before now.

And yet.....

And yet, in barely three days – or seven months, depending on how you looked at it - he'd completely changed his mind and rather impulsively thrown away his bachelor existence. He hoped it went better than his last impulsive decision. He rubbed his left arm reflexively though the Mark had long since gone.

He couldn't resist the call of his bladder any longer.

He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione, and wrapped his dressing gown round himself. The floor in the bathroom was cold, and he winced. His pressing need answered, he moved to wash his hands. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and realised that he looked slightly stunned. His Slytherin façade of supercilious detachment had entirely shattered.

It made him uncomfortable.

After ten minutes he had to admit to himself that he was hiding from Hermione. Not that he regretted what he'd done; not really, he just needed time to himself to come to terms with it. Just a bit of breathing space.

His period of reflection – or pure blind panic, as it might more properly be known – was brought to an end by the sounds of someone stirring in the next room.

Oh well, what was the worse that could happen? Being rogered senseless? Spending the rest of the day in bed, with a couple of meal breaks? He could cope with that, horrid though it might be.

He opened the door to find a tousled Hermione sitting up in bed, with a sheet very firmly tucked under her arms, and, he was pleased to see, a faintly worried expression. At least he wasn't the only one feeling a little uneasy this morning, and wondering quite what to do. "Oh there you are," she said with relief. "I was beginning to think that you'd run off with a house elf."

He shrugged off his dressing gown and dipped back under the covers as quickly as possible. Hermione squealed when his cold feet brushed against her, then relented, and wrapped her arms around him. "Why on earth didn't you cast a warming charm?" she said severely.

"I usually do," he confessed. "But for some reason I forgot to do so last night. My mind must have been on other things." His hand, which had been innocently resting on her hip, began moving in entirely less-innocent directions.

"And still is, apparently." He flinched a little when she pulled her wand from underneath her pillow, then relaxed when she did nothing worse than cast a warming charm. "I wouldn't want you to get a chill when you give the house elves our breakfast order," she explained. "It'll take some time to warm up though. Do you have any idea how we could pass the time?"

As it turned out, he did, and very good ideas they were too.

By the time they got round to breakfast, it was almost lunchtime, and Hermione was feeling ridiculously happy. This time she was wrapped in Severus' second-best dressing gown, which drowned her, and looked ridiculous, but did keep her feet warm. Apparently they didn't have to worry about impressing the House Elves anymore.

Severus was sitting on the sofa, and Hermione was twining herself affectionately round him. A bit like honeysuckle round a stake, she thought whimsically, contemplating where to put her tendrils next.

"Erm, what were you planning to do for the rest of the day?" Severus asked, a little hesitantly.

"No idea," she said. "Why, what did you have in mind? Do you need to do Potions-Master-y things? Should I make myself scarce for a bit?"

His arms tightened reflexively round her. "Don't be silly."

"Well then, I thought a bath and getting dressed would fill up the afternoon, and then there's dinner in the Hall again, and then I was assuming that we'd come back here afterwards for a nice discussion about potions. Or literature. I don't mind which."

A faint upheaval indicated that Severus was amused by that. "I was just wondering what we were going to do about Harry and Ron, now that things have changed."

"Do we have to do anything about Harry and Ron? As far as I'm concerned, they can either like it or lump it."

"I'm sure that you'd prefer to be friends again."

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose."

"I'll take that as a 'yes, provided they grovel at my feet by way of apology' shall I?"

Hermione smiled faintly. "I don't hold out much hope. It's funny. They're allowed to run around shagging everything in sight, but they expect me to stay at home, reading books, and waiting for them to call."

"Is that what you fell out about?"

Hermione nodded, and shifted a little closer. "They took it on themselves to warn off a bloke who they said was being over-friendly; according to them anyway. I told them to mind their own business. They told me that I didn't know what blokes were like, and that he was just interested in one thing. I pointed out that they shouldn't judge everyone by their own standards, and then they called me an uptight bookworm who wasn't getting any herself. The point seemed to escape them that the reason I wasn't getting any was because any time a man looked at me twice, they'd take it on themselves to go and 'have a word'. Bastards."

Severus wrapped a curl round his finger. "You don't think it's a question that if neither of them can have you, neither can anyone else."

"Good grief, I hope not. I don't think of either of them like that. Ew. That's revolting."

"There was a time in your sixth year when you and Mr Weasley seemed to be getting very close. There were bets being taken in the staff room over how long it would take you to succumb to his manly charms, and how long it would last. As I recall Irma and I scooped the pool that year; we both thought you had more sense."

Hermione let that pass, struck by a more interesting thought. "It's funny. I spent the whole year waiting for him to ask me out, and preparing all my excuses about how we were better as friends, but it never happened. I just thought he'd reached the same conclusion, and was relieved to be spared the inevitable sulking when I turned him down. It's not as if Harry needed the extra aggravation; he had enough to deal with."

"Yes, well that could be it. They came to some sort of gentleman's agreement that neither of them would make a move on you....."

"What? Next you'll be telling me that the reason the pair of them have found a proper girlfriend because they're pining for me."

"Well not entirely. There's a large element of them being young lads being offered sex on a plate wherever they go."

"Thank god for that," said Hermione firmly. "I can't imagine anything worse than being stuck in a relationship with either of them. Ron seems to think that, just because his mother runs round after him, that his girlfriends should do everything for him. He has this little act he puts on about not being able to do the most basic of cleaning spells, and the daft bints always fall for it. Plus, he's got this really annoying habit of leaving his socks in the middle of the kitchen floor. I'd have to kill him if I were living with him and he did that."

"And what's wrong with Harry?"

"He's unbearably chatty first thing in the morning, and he can't bear to let me sit and read a book without interrupting me every five minutes to ask me stupid questions. What am I reading? Who is it by? What's it like? Is it any good? It drives you demented."

"I put my socks neatly in the laundry basket provided, and, whilst I might invite you to put your book down, I'd certainly be doing it for more interesting reasons than asking you what it was about." Severus wondered whether it was wise to broach the issue of his bad habits, but decided that Hermione would be only too ready to point them out to him at a later date.

Hermione smiled up at him. "That's not the point though, is it? The thing is, if I liked Ron in that way, I'd probably think that leaving socks in the middle of the kitchen was sweet or something. If you're in love your brains seem to leak out your ears, and it's the really annoying things about someone that attracts you to them."

"For instance," Severus said cautiously, hoping that he wasn't asking for trouble.

"Well, some people might think that you were an irritable and sarcastic sod," Hermione replied. "I prefer to think of you as making witty and insightful comments, provoked by the utter inability of the average person to organise their way out of a paper bag. And I think you look really rather sexy when you sneer at people."

Severus wasn't offended by the thought that most people thought he was irritable and sarcastic; he was irritable and sarcastic. He was surprisingly pleased by the idea that Hermione thought he was witty, but then he supposed she had to deal with dunderheads almost as much as him, which would tend to make her appreciate his point of view. "And I've always admired the ... er... determined way you tackle any problem," he replied tactfully. She seemed to be right about brains leaking out of ears, because he'd never really tried being tactful before now; he'd never felt the need to.

"You mean I'm bossy, but you quite like it." Hermione said, amused. Tact was apparently wasted on her. That was probably for the best.

"I suppose I do: better bossy than having no idea what you want, and no idea how to get it. There's a lot to be said for bossy." Particularly when applied in the bedroom, he added silently. There was something to be said for not having to do all the hard work yourself.

There was a comfortable silence while breakfast settled, the fire crackled, and Severus excogitated. Only the broadest of smirks indicated that he'd reached a conclusion, though what that conclusion was he had no intention of sharing with Hermione. Despite her protestations, she still liked the boys, and really didn't have the ruthlessness necessary to bring them into line. What he needed was a Slytherin with a grudge, and you didn't have to look far to find one – Pansy Parkinson.

He was going to enjoy this.

Being a Slytherin, plotting was plugged directly into his libido. "Hermione, didn't you say something about having a bath?"

"Hmmmm."

She wasn't in a hurry to move, until he added, "Well why don't you run a bath for the both of us, and I'll be along in a minute?"

It didn't take long to dash off a quick note to Pansy asking for a quick word, and arrange for its delivery by house elf. Another house elf was sent scurrying for champagne and glasses, and a cooling charm was applied to the bottle.

He was disconcerted to see that Hermione was lying in a bath full of bubbles. The view was nice, he couldn't deny, but he didn't really think that bubbles were appropriate.

"Don't worry," she said, smiling warmly. "It's sandalwood, so you won't end up smelling of roses. It's a nice manly scent. And I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I should bloody hope note," he said severely, handing her a glass of champagne before sliding into the bath by her side. He'd never appreciated the benefits of having a bathtub this large before; it took ages to fill, was doubtless a bugger to clean – though that was the house elves' problem – and made you feel like you ought to lay down a trail of crumbs to be able to find your way out of it.

But it was just the right size for two, and Hermione was right about the bubbles being nice – though it would never do to let her know – and the champagne was chilled to perfection.

He didn't really approve of the way Hermione bolted her glass of champagne – it was vintage, for heaven's sake – but he entirely approved of the way she was nibbling on his neck. It did seem like his worse fears for the day were about to be realised, and he was going to be rogered senseless.

At least he'd made it out of bed.


	10. In which more plotting takes place

The nice thing about Pansy Malfoy nee Parkinson was that she knew how to bear a grudge. She wasn't fussed whether revenge was a dish served hot or cold, as long as it came in double portions.

Pansy had a little black book with a difference. Not for her the Floo details of young men (or women, depending on the mood). Oh no. Her little black book contained the names of all those who had annoyed, irritated or otherwise crossed her. Harry and Ron were by no means top of the list, but she was prepared to be flexible and take the opportunity to stitch them up like a kipper, even though it wasn't really their turn.

She'd replied to his note with commendable promptness, agreeing that they had a common interest in seeing that the Terrible Two got their comeuppance and Severus had taken the chance to slip away to find her when Hermione had conveniently returned to her room to do unspecified girly things.

Hogwarts was a castle designed for sneaking around and having meetings on the sly. There were secret corridors, which each generation of children discovered for themselves, and fondly imagined they were the first, and hidden rooms that only opened by the light of the full moon, or on the second Tuesday in every month. There was a complex chart on the wall of Severus' Office which displayed which room was available for each day of the year, so that he could better sneak up on People (Children usually) who were Plotting.

You always knew where to find the Gryffindors though: the Room of Requirement. No imagination.

For his own Plotting, he preferred to use an undistinguished room off the main corridor in the Dungeons. Flashy amateurs like Riddle preferred the exoticism of secret rooms like the Chamber of Secrets; Severus preferred an ordinary room, available all year round, and which didn't appear and disappear according to the vagaries of the stars. After all, you never knew when you might want to plot at short notice, and it was no good putting things off until next week because the room wasn't available.

To this end, he had kitted out the room with a couple of cosy armchairs to set his fellow Plotters at ease (the better to take advantage of them), some tea things and a never-empty biscuit barrel (refreshments were always nice), and a potions kit containing all sorts of useful items.

Crossing the courtyard, he saw the two boys huddled together on a bench in the distance. He could imagine what they were talking about: how to save Hermione from the clutches of a dangerous man, though why they had to do it outdoors, he couldn't imagine. There was enough fresh air between their ears to mean that they didn't need to leave the castle in search of more. He turned sharply right, deciding to go the long way round, rather than have a confrontation with them. Even stupid people would be able to put two and two together if there were an argument one day, and something went terribly wrong the next.

He still arrived early, naturally, and set about making a nice cup of tea, and arranging some biscuits neatly on a plate. Satisfied, he settled back to wait for his visitor.

Pansy was fashionably late. Experience having taught her that there was no point in trying to outflank him by getting there before him, she opted to make him wait ten minutes instead. Not long enough to be insulting, but just long enough to point out that her co-operation shouldn't be taken for granted.

Bless.

She certainly held a grudge against the boys.

"It was bad enough that that grubby pair suggested a threesome in the first place," she said indignantly. "As if I'd be interested in either of them. But then to spread the rumour that I'd only refused because Ron turned up instead of Harry is appalling. Whichever way you look at it, I come across as a desperate slapper."

"At least a slapper with taste, once you got your version of events in," Severus said, fanning the flames under the guise of sympathy. "Turning someone down because they have ginger hair does seem a reasonable response to me. I do wonder how Mr Weasley manages so well with that handicap."

Pansy twitched; the shot hit home. "So do I. I wouldn't put it past either of them to be boasting about conquests they haven't actually achieved. Ronald could still be a virgin for all we know."

"They really are an awful pair, and nothing they've done since leaving school has changed my mind," Severus replied. "A gentleman would take rejection on the chin, or anywhere else a lady chose to offer it."

"They certainly don't qualify as gentlemen," she said. "I only managed to prevent Draco from doing something foolish by pointing out that I was the wronged party, and it was for me to seek my revenge. You can imagine the field day the Daily Prophet would have with that: 'Son of Notorious Death Eater attacks The Boy Who Lived Twice'. We'd never hear the end of it."

Severus frowned. He didn't like to be reminded of Potter's celebrity status. Anyone would think that he'd taken on Lord Voldemort single-handed and the rest of the Order had been merely window dressing. Where would Potter have been without his spying skills, to take one example, plucked out of the air entirely at random. Dead, that's where.

It would be a positive pleasure to display Potter's feet of clay to a wider audience, but how was this to be accomplished.

Pansy had several interesting ideas. He did think that photographing the pair of them in a compromising position with a goat, and threatening to publish, was a step too far. Especially for the poor goat.

It did give him an idea though, and idea of almost intoxicating loveliness.

"I've always thought that the way that pair carries on is their desperate attempt to come to terms with, shall we say, a more deep-seated problem," Severus said, testing the waters to see if this idea would float. "They're trying too hard, don't you think?"

There was a significant pause whilst Pansy considered the suggestion, and assessed the likelihood of persuading the Wizarding World of the possibility that the rampant, almost obsessive, heterosexuality of the Terrible Two was nothing more than a thin veneer obscuring the true nature of their orientation.

"No one would ever believe it," she said regretfully. "They can't dance."

"They're in denial," Severus reposted.

"They have no dress sense."

Severus couldn't deny it, though, as someone who prided himself on his attention to his attire, he wasn't entirely happy with the implication that only gay men were well dressed. "That is true, but that can be explained as part of their heterosexual camouflage. A determined effort to blend in."

"All they're interested in is Quidditch."

"A game played by athletic, sweating men which provides them with the perfect cover to bathe communally and admire the rivulets of water trickling down over pink, firm flesh."

"Hmmmm." Pansy mused lovingly on the picture presented to her, but then recalled her attention to the matters in hand. "I suppose that would work, though it would have to be delicately handled. It's no good either of us going round alleging that they're gay. It'd be dismissed as sour grapes, especially on my part."

"Indeed, no. I was thinking more along the lines of us denying the rumours…"

"Obviously there's no truth in the rumours, Dean," Pansy addressed an imaginary target. "I don't think you have a thing to worry about in the changing rooms. I know some people say there's no smoke without fire, and it's a little odd that neither of them have managed to hold down a proper relationship, but really, I'm sure that it's all just a silly misunderstanding. After all, lots of boys spend time together, and it doesn't mean a thing, does it?"

"And all I have to do is to request Minerva not to discuss the rumours with Hermione, as it only upsets her, then our job will be done. She'll have to mention the rumours to Hooch and Trelawney, and those two can spread gossip faster than the Portraits. Before the end of the day the everyone at Hogwarts, including the House Elves, will be absolutely convinced that Harry and Ron are devotees of the love that dare not speak its name."

"Once they hear, they're bound to do something stupid like deny everything when the sensible thing to do is to look supercilious or smirk and offer to prove the rumours wrong. If they played their cards right, they'd actually be able to bed more young ladies," Pansy said, immensely satisfied with the beauty of the plan.

"If they go to Hermione for help in getting themselves out of the enormous hole they've dug for themselves, then she's just as likely to lecture them for being narrow-minded as anything else. Though she will enjoy them grovelling before her in an attempt to persuade her to help," Severus said, equally smug.

Pansy was looking at him quizzically. "You mean this is entirely for her benefit?"

"Indeed. What of it?" Severus replied flatly.

Pansy grinned at him unrepentantly. "Nothing. Nothing. I think it's very sweet, that's all."

Severus was surprised to find that he wasn't remotely bothered if someone thought he and Hermione were sweet together, and contented himself with raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.

"Bloody hell," she blurted. "It must be love."

Severus didn't really feel very comfortable using words like 'love' after a mere twenty-four hours, but he couldn't deny that there seemed to be more to his good mood than merely copious amounts of high-quality sex. He'd had that before, without his irritation levels being affected; it appeared that Hermione was right about brains leaking out of your ears when you were in love, and he only hoped that the damage wouldn't be too extensive. He had Slytherins to deal with after all.

Mind you, judging from Pansy's shocked expression, the thought of Professor Snape in love was sufficiently scary to offset any sudden loss in venom. He shrugged mentally: whatever worked.

"Well I hope you'll be very happy," Pansy said, recovering from her shock enough to be able to mouth platitudes.

"It's traditional to wish both partners happiness," he said dryly.

"I couldn't care less whether Hermione Granger is happy or not," Pansy said firmly. "She's never done a thing for me or Draco. You, on the other hand, spoke up for Draco at a time when no one else did. Don't think that either one of us have forgotten."

"Slytherins look after their own," he said. "I couldn't stand by and allow the Ministry to confiscate all the Malfoy estates like that."

"Besides," said Pansy, "it annoyed Potter."

Severus smiled faintly. "That too."

The look of aggravation on Potter's face when he'd testified that Draco had never been a Death Eater had been immensely gratifying. That this was due more to Lucius keeping his son out of things, just in case they lost, rather than a conscious moral decision by Draco was irrelevant. Draco's hands, if not his soul, were clean and that was all that mattered to the Ministry.

"The Aurors raided the Manor, you know. Looking for Dark Artefacts, and goodness only knows what else. They seemed very disappointed when they didn't find Muggles chained to the walls and suspicious blood stains on the floor. It didn't stop them tracking their great big muddy boots all over the carpets though. It took the house elves simply ages to get the marks out," Pansy said, annoyed all over again at the intrusion into her home.

"Didn't Maskelyne lead that Investigation?" Severus asked.

Pansy nodded.

"Didn't he get moved to the Apparition Licensing department shortly after that?"

"You know, I believe you may be right," Pansy replied blandly.

Severus suspected that many of the people involved in that investigation featured prominently in Pansy's Little Black Book, and were in the process of being ticked off one by one. It did the heart good to see his Slytherins growing up and making their way in the world. The Gryffindors may have won the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup for the last ten years, but his Slytherins were coming out on top where it really mattered.

And so was he.

Hermione hadn't really been able to think of a reason she needed to go back to her rooms. She didn't need to wash; she'd never been cleaner. Her suitcase was in Severus' rooms, so she couldn't pretend she needed to find fresh clothes. What she did need was a bit of time to herself, and she had the feeling that Severus had things to do but was being too polite to say so.

Well, not polite. Severus wasn't polite, not in conventional ways, but they had suddenly found themselves in a relationship and were rather groping their way to a modus vivendi. Until the fine details had been sorted out, it might be a good idea to err on the side of caution and give him some space.

So she'd made some comment about needing to do things, and suggested that he come and find her 'a bit later' – which was suitably vague – and slipped off to her room.

She had planned to read quietly until dinner time but she couldn't concentrate. The stupid faces of her stupid friends kept appearing before her, looking miserable. What right had they to disapprove of her relationship with Severus? As if they knew anything about going out with the same person for more than a fortnight.

She wasn't worried about Severus at all, she felt quietly confident that that was going to work out fine, thank you. It may have happened a little quickly, but it was a bit like a complicated potion – it had been bubbling along for seven months, and then the last ingredient had been added, and whoomph…

Whooomph was right.

No, the only fly in the ointment she could see was The Boys, and their dog in the manger attitude, and she was damned if she was going to waste any more time on them when there were much better things to be thinking about.

Such as the last ingredient in the cauldron.

And how long 'a bit later' would turn out to be.

She was startled out of her comfortable half-doze by a knock at the door. She opened it eagerly, having smoothed down her hair and clothes, expecting to see Severus.

"Oh, it's you," she said. Harry and Ron. Her two least favourite people in the world, now that Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy were dead.

They both looked hurt at the coldness of their reception, but shuffled inside when she stepped back from the door.

"I'm glad we caught you alone," Harry said, looking grave.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I hope you two haven't come round to nag me over seeing Severus, because if you have I suggest you save your breath," Hermione snapped irritably.

Ron perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, ready to make a run for it if things turned nasty. "Look, Hermione. I think you should hear us out. It's important."

Harry nodded. "It is important. I know you think you're in love, but, well, I don't think you can trust Snape."

"Oh not that again," Hermione replied. "I've spent nearly ten years telling you he's not a Death Eater, and still you won't give up. If the absolute failure of him to sneak up behind you and hex you in the back during the final confrontation hasn't convinced you that he's on our side, what will it take: a signed affidavit from Voldemort that he considers Severus a traitor to the cause? Because if that's what it takes, I'll try and arrange a séance."

"It's not that," Harry said, raising his voice. "Though I still think he's a shifty self-serving sod. It's something much worse."

Hermione glared at him. "What on earth are you on about now?"

"He's cheating on you," Ron said simply. "He's been seen meeting another woman."

Hermione was so angry she couldn't speak, but just stood there trying to control the urge to hit them.

"Someone saw him sneaking into a room with Pansy Parkinson," Ron said. "And we all know what she's like. They were in there for ages, and there were all sorts of silencing charms up. You don't do that, if you're not up to something."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, patently not sorry at all. "But I thought you had a right to know."

"That's kind of you," Hermione replied bitterly. "Very kind indeed. I bet you just couldn't wait to rush here with the good news."

"It wasn't like that, Hermione," Ron protested. "We're worried about you. We're your friends."

"If you were my friends, you'd be happy for me, and if you couldn't manage to be happy for me, you'd at least pretend to be happy for me, instead of coming up with this rubbish."

"But it's true," wailed Ron. "We saw him with our own eyes."

"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "Or rather, I don't believe Severus was having an illicit tryst with Pansy. Whatever you saw, it wasn't what you think it was. He's the Head of Slytherin, for god's sake; he's bound to have things to talk over with old pupils."

"Since when has Snape ever cared about the students?" Harry scoffed.

"It's Gryffindors he doesn't like, Harry," she replied wearily. "Just Gryffindors. And right now I can see his sodding point."

"I don't know what's happened to you, Hermione," Ron said pityingly. "We used to be such good friends, and now you throw this back in our face when we're only trying to help you. What changed?"

"You did," she said. "And I really don't like you very much at the moment."

Ron heaved himself up from the bed. "There's nothing more to be said then. We'll leave you to it. Just don't come running to us, when we find out the truth."

"I take it you don't want an invitation to the wedding then," she said, with a sneer that Severus would have been proud of.

Harry opened his mouth and then either thought better of what he was going to say or, more likely, couldn't think of a suitably nasty response, and let his breath out again in a long hiss. He shook his head sadly, presumably at Hermione's folly in trusting Snape, and left without saying another word. Ron followed him, and Hermione took great pleasure in slamming the door behind them.

Oh, for the old days, when she could have slapped the pair of them and got away with nothing more than points deduction and maybe a detention. She was an adult now, and had to behave.

Being a grown-up was no fun at all.

Severus knocked on her door barely ten minutes later. He expected to find a warm and gently glowing Hermione, who would be pleased to see him. What he got was a rather forlorn Hermione who needed to be coaxed back into good humour by an offer to hex the boys – it was obvious that her unhappiness was due to the boys, though she wouldn't tell him what they'd said - in whatever way she wanted.

"Tantallegra?" she suggested into his chest, where her head was buried.

"That would be doing them a favour," he replied. "It's the only way those two clodhoppers are going to learn to dance properly."

She choked with laughter.

"I was thinking more along the lines of giving them the symptoms of some horrible social disease, like syphilis. Just think: they'd have to notify all their recent partners. The news would be round the Wizarding World like wildfire, and they'd never have another shag again."

"You would too, wouldn't you? I do love you, you know," she said fondly.

The tone was half-joking, half-teasing, but there was an underlying truth to what she was saying, something that was so solid and undeniable that she could joke about it, because she took it for granted. It took his breath away for a moment, and then he'd kissed her with all the passion that he couldn't put into words, not yet anyway.

She'd reciprocated with enthusiasm, and it wasn't long before they'd found themselves in her bed.

Afterwards, as he lay there spent and limp, and thought of the careful way she'd moved on him, her eyes fixed on him, it seemed the easiest thing in the world to move a little closer to her and whisper in her ear that he loved her too.

He didn't think he'd ever feel entirely comfortable saying it, but it was worth it to see that contented glow back in Hermione's face.

Leopards, even well-shagged leopards who've fallen in love, don't change their spots, and there was a fleeting thought that he really ought to find some way to let the boys know that their intervention this afternoon had provoked that declaration, but it was only a fleeting thought.

They would be livid though.

Melusina: I do know what you mean about the plot not really holding the story together. Usually the plot arc in my stories is a simple one – boy meets girl – they argue a bit – find out they like each other – fall into bed / love / both. So when A snape gets to that point there's a feeling that the story has ended, and it's taken me months to think what happens next. I was a bit worried about making the boys so thoroughly horrible – they're going to get worse – but I think it introduces the necessary plot complication. The story arc is now boy meets girl – friends are awkward – friends are sorted out….. the romance is firmly relegated to sub-plot.

It's a bit tricky swapping horses in mid-race, so it might not be entirely successful; we shall see.

I'm not sure whether The Arithmantic Dating Agency isn't finished really. I mean they're off on honeymoon. I had intended to do the Honeymoon and an epilogue of their return and what happens with Ginny and her match, but (a) the Honeymoon couldn't be posted here, and I've gone off writing mindless smut, so I might move straight onto (b). I just can't think who to match her with? Neville? Draco? Hmmmm.


	11. Severus' revenge

What with one thing and another, Hermione didn't have long to get ready for dinner. She'd suggested staying in bed and getting the House Elves to bring them a meal, but Severus had wanted to attend Dinner in Hall.

"If you don't turn up," he said, nuzzling at her ear in an entirely distracting way, "the little sods will think they've won."

She didn't really want to get into petty point-scoring with the boys, and would have been content to ignore them, but there were Severus' feelings to consider. It wasn't fair to expect him to put up with them making these kinds of allegations, which they would no doubt be passing on to everyone. What was needed was a show of unity, and then hopefully they would drop the matter.

"We don't have to stay long do we?" she said.

"Not long at all." There were only two more days of this jamboree left, and then she would be packing up to leave. He didn't want to waste any more time that was strictly necessary on winding the boys up, when he could be spending it with Hermione, but if they didn't get them sorted out now then the argument would drag on for ages.

It had to be admitted that his desire to complete his victory over the boys was not entirely free of self-interest: Potter had been a thorn in his side for years, and Weasley had been almost as irritating. (He carefully didn't think about Hermione's role in the triumvirate, because that would remind him that she had once been as much of an irritant as the others. More so, really. They have never asked awkward questions in Potions that he might not have been able to answer.)

His main motive was pure though. Well, as pure as revenge ever is. Hermione was unhappy at the way that the boys were treating her, therefore the boys had to be made to stop doing it.

They were clearly unmoved by appeals to common sense, or any sense of gratitude or affection, therefore they would have to be bullied into being better behaved.

He'd always found that appealing to people's better natures was nowhere near as effective as frightening them into obedience, and so no reason to change his methods now. If the boys kept on the way they were going, then there would be worse in store for them then salacious rumours about their sexuality.

After all, there was nothing wrong with being gay, though they would obviously find their precarious masculinity threatened with it.

They were amongst the last people to take their places at the table, and the Daft Duo watched them take their seats with stormy expressions.

Severus gave them a chilly smile, which did nothing to improve their mood and allowed his eyes to skate over them, as if they weren't worthy of his attention.

Which they weren't.

If looks could kill, Severus would have been dead years ago. He had been glared at by many more frightening people than Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, people who could actually kill with a glance, or at least a raised finger, so those two amateurs had no chance of discomposing him.

They had clearly expected he and Hermione to be on bad terms – for her to be tearstained and downcast, not chatting and smiling. Their chagrin was truly a beautiful thing to behold.

"Are you smiling at them?" Hermione asked.

"I might be."

"Good."

His smile, presently of the rubbing-salt-into-the-wound variety, softened into something warmer. The boys hated that even more: a smirking Snape was bad enough, a happy Snape was worse.

Hermione didn't allow herself to look at the boys during dinner but gazed adoringly at Severus or kept her eyes on her plate. She did smile, once, at the boys: a smile of unadulterated joy. They returned it, uncertainly, but obviously taking it for some sort of olive branch.

How wrong they were.

It didn't matter how often she told herself that their view of her as a dried up spinster who only lived for books only showed how narrow-minded and immature they were, their insults had hurt. So she hadn't slept with as many people as they had? There was nothing wrong with that. At least she'd never spun someone a line to get them into bed.

She had never been able to get them to understand that she didn't give a damn whether they slept with an entire Quidditch team, in public, on broomsticks, and sold the pictures to the Daily Prophet, as long as they were honest about the fact they wouldn't Owl the next day.

Why any sensible Witch would believe any promises made by those two, she would never understand -their exploits were infamous and widely reported by the Wizarding Press - and for some reason when she pointed it out to the whittling witch sobbing on her shoulder, this didn't go down well.

She supposed she ought to be more sympathetic, but after the twentieth time or so, it was difficult to be particularly caring when it should obvious to a flobberworm that the boys weren't ready to settle down, and probably wouldn't be for the next ten years or so.

They weren't sowing wild oats, but wild barley, rye and were well into wild rice by now.

They'd never had an adolescence, so they were determined to make up for last time. She understood that. She just didn't understand – with a deep hurt that refused to go away – why that meant they had to be so bloody rotten to her.

Severus would say it was because they were pillocks. She liked that as an explanation. It explained all observable phenomena, and made it clear that it was their fault and not hers, which was as it should be.

They was certainly no way she could forgive their foolish attempt to split her and Severus up. He wouldn't be caught dead fooling round with Pansy, so if he were caught talking to her, it could only mean that he wasn't fooling around. She had a fair idea what he had been up to, and if the boys couldn't work it out, then she wasn't going to enlighten them.

She was looking forward to finding out though.

Dinner finished, and the tables were cleared away so that there could be dancing. The floor was practically empty, as the diners were reluctant to move so soon after ten courses of the finest food Hogwarts' House Elves could produce. People gathered in small groups round the edge of the floor, chatting away, and then breaking off to go and find a new group to catch up with.

Hermione stood with Severus, who was talking to several ex-Slytherins who'd left school long before her time, listening to the conversation with one ear, and watching the Brownian motion of her year-mates with one eye.

"So, Miss Granger," said Septimus (she thought it was Septimus), "I understand that you're quite an important figure at the Ministry."

"So I'm told," she replied cheerfully. "Though that doesn't mean I can actually get anything done."

"No, indeed," Septimus (she was sure it was Septimus, Septimus Spurtle, which was unfortunate) replied. "I don't think anybody ever does get anything done, do they? The Ministry has a venerable tradition of not actually doing things, which leaves us poor souls to get on with running our own lives."

Severus huffed. "I know I have the devil's own job getting my ingredients' budget past the Ministry every year. Potions ingredients don't grow on trees."

Septimus smiled. "Not all of them, certainly, or you'd have the little darlings on detention and gathering ingredients in the Forbidden Forest."

"I have suggested it to Albus, but he simply won't go for it. Something about Health and Safety, which is ridiculous. If you can't fend off an attack from an Acromantula at eleven, it's better that you were removed from the gene pool and Hogwarts as soon as possible."

Hermione bristled, and opened her mouth ready to denounce the pair of them as heartless bastards, when she realised that they were teasing her. "That's outrageous," she said. "You'll be telling me next that the Headmaster won't let you use children for potions ingredients! It's just political correctness gone mad."

Septimus stifled his choke of laughter. "Do you remember the time you gave me and Amanda Braithewaite detention for talking in class? She was convinced that one of your bottled specimens waved at her."

Severus snorted. "It probably did."

"I told her it was nothing more than a trick of the light, but she insisted on hanging on to my hand all the time we were in the ingredients' store. It was rather sweet really, and made me feel all big and strong."

"And three years' later you were married," Severus noted.

"It was our fifth wedding anniversary before she admitted that she wasn't the slightest bit scared, but was just using it as an excuse to hold hands. Wonderful woman," Septimus replied. "You and Hermione must come over to dinner one evening, since you were instrumental in bringing us together."

"That would be pleasant," Hermione replied, putting a hand on Severus' sleeve. "If you'll excuse me, I can see that Lavender wants a word with me. I'll leave you to make the arrangements, shall I?"

Severus nodded, and she left the two of them discussing dates as she crossed the floor.

"Hermione!" Lavender greeted her effusively. "It's been simply ages since last we saw each other. It must be years."

"Very likely," she replied dryly. "It might even be graduation."

"No! Well, we mustn't leave it so long next time. You look well." Lavender flicked a glance over at Severus, and then eyed her with some respect. "So, you and Snape, eh?"

Hermione nodded.

"I always thought you'd end up with either Ron of Harry," Lavender continued blithely. "Of course, now I understand."

"Sorry?"

"You know," Lavender nudged her knowingly in the ribs.

"Sorry, no."

"For heaven's sake, Hermione, there's no need to keep it a secret any more. Everyone knows." Lavender frowned, irritated by Hermione's refusal to gossip.

"Everyone knows what?"

Lavender's frown faded. "You mean you don't know about Harry and Ron being gay?"

"They're not gay," Hermione blurted. "What about all those girls?"

Lavender sighed. "Oh come on, Hermione. It's obvious when you think about it. They were just cover. What do Muggles call it – oh yes, a beard. I'm surprised that they didn't tell you, really. After all, you are best friends."

Lavender paused, but Hermione had nothing to say. She was still wrestling with the idea that Harry and Ron had managed to keep a secret of that magnitude from her.

"I suppose they were worried what your reaction would be. I don't think the Muggle world is as understanding about that sort of thing."

"What? No. I suppose it isn't. Though it is changing," Hermione replied on auto-pilot. "Erm, who told you about this?"

"Parvati told me, and so did Susan Bones. Pansy denied it, but she's obviously covering something up. I wouldn't be surprised if all that fuss last Summer about the threesome was Draco and Harry and Ron, and not Pansy at all. She was just showing off. I've always thought Draco was playing for both sides." Lavender nodded knowingly.

"Good god," Hermione said. The penny had dropped. Pansy's delicate hand was behind the rumours, which meant this was Severus' revenge. The boys were going to be livid.

And wasn't that a lovely thought.

"Oh, gosh," Lavender said, interrupting Hermione's gloating. "There's Neville. I wonder if he's heard the news?" She hurried away, determined to see that the whole room was kept in the know. Telegram, telephone, and tell-a-Lavender, went the old joke. (Though you had to explain it to the Purebloods, and it lost a lot in translation).

Pansy was watching Lavender with a great deal of interest, with the kind of smile that you normally saw on someone who had just drawn a winning hand on poker – subtle, but triumphant.

Hermione waited patiently until Pansy looked her way, and held her glance for longer than was polite. Understanding passed between them – Hermione's lips twitched, Pansy dropped an eyelid in a wink – and then Pansy turned back to her conversation.

When Hermione returned to Severus, she didn't say anything, just tucked her arm under his, and picked up the conversational reins where they had left off.

Harry and Ron were not happy. They had seen Hermione and Severus come into dinner late, and the disgusting way they had flaunted their happiness in front of the other diners.

They had been astounded to find that everyone they spoke to thought that they made a lovely couple, and wasn't it sweet the way that Snape was doting on her, and how he deserved to find happiness.

It was like being in a parallel universe.

Their universe, the normal one, was the one in which Snape was a Greasy Git who bullied children and shouted at people a lot, and gave them detention unfairly.

This universe, the one that was obviously due to drugs or mind-bending potions, was the one in which Snape was a bit of a softy really, though a bit grumpy.

So they greeted the arrival of Neville with relief: here was a man who wouldn't have a good thing to say about Snape. He wouldn't have forgiven or forgotten the treatment meted out to him in Potions.

They were about to be very disappointed.

"Hermione and Snape?" Neville said when he was told the news. "You're joking."

"We're not," Harry said grimly.

"We only wish we were, mate," said Ron.

"Well, good for her," Neville replied. "I hope they'll be very happy."

Ron pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming – this could only be a nightmare. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"This is Snape," Harry said. "You know. Snape. Greasy Git of the dungeons. You used to hate him."

"Used to Harry," Neville replied. "Used to being the operative word. I've grown up a bit since then – and I was really awful at potions. I've got a couple of apprentices working for me now, and all I can say is that I've a new appreciation for Snape's point of view. What a pair of idiots – they drive me up the wall, and the worst that can happen in a greenhouse is being nibbled by a carnivorous plant. I'd hate to have to teach something where people could get killed in any number of spectacularly violent ways."

Harry and Ron were dumbstruck.

"He's rather sexy in a dark and brooding way," Neville added, eyeing Snape speculatively. "He's not my type – I've always preferred blonds – but I can see the attraction."

Harry and Ron still couldn't find anything to say.

"Mind you, red heads have a certain charm as well." Neville was now looking at Ron as if he were the last nut cluster in the Milk Tray assortment.

Ron made an odd sound, like a chicken being throttled.

"I'm a little hurt," Neville continued blithely, "that you didn't feel you could tell me about your," he paused significantly, "preferences."

"What preferences?" Harry asked. He'd been too busy staring at Snape and wondering how on earth anyone found him attractive, to pick up on the implications of what Neville had been saying.

Neville smiled knowingly.

"He means that we're gay," Ron said very, very calmly. "That's what you mean, isn't it Neville?"

Harry blinked. "But we're not."

"Harry, you mustn't worry. No one here is judging you," Neville said earnestly. "And if either of you want to go out one evening, there's a couple of bars I could introduce you to…"

"But we're not," repeated Harry. "And what do you mean no one here is judging us?"

Neville patted him soothingly. "Exactly what I say, Harry. We're all very pleased that you've finally decided to come out of the wardrobe."

"Closet," Harry said automatically. "It's coming out of the closet."

Ron thumped him, hard, on the upper arm. "We're not coming out of a wardrobe, closet, or anything else you can store clothes in. We're straight as a die, and proud of it."

A look of profound disappointment crossed Neville's face that eclipsed anything they had ever seen on McGonagall's face. "I see. I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said stiffly. "I can see where I'm not wanted."

Harry put out a hand to stop him going, then jerked it back as if he was frightened he'd get burned. "Neville, mate, be reasonable. We can't help it if we're straight."

Neville just shook his head sorrowfully, before turning away. "I only hope one day that you feel you can trust us."

"Bloody hell," said Ron, once Neville was out of ear shot. "I never knew Neville was into men." He winced at the unfortunate pun.

"Neither did I."

There was a moment of profound silence whilst they digested what had just happened.

Ron wasn't stupid - just inconsiderate – and was perfectly capable of putting the clues together. They were being watched, he realised, but if he tried to catch someone's eye they looked down at the floor or over his shoulder – anywhere but looking him in the face.

"They all believe it, you know," he said quietly, still thinking things through.

"What!" Harry glanced wildly round the room. "But they can't. It's not true."

"When has that ever stopped a rumour?" Ron asked scornfully.

"But why?" Harry wailed.

"Snape," Ron replied. He had no doubt that Snape was behind this. Who else had they annoyed recently – apart from Hermione, and she was more of a face-slapper than a plotter – it had to be Snape.

Harry, always eager to think the worst of the man, found this entirely believable. "The bastard."

"Yes, indeedy," Ron agreed fervently. "Now the only question is, what are we going to do about it?"


	12. Chapter 12

For once, Harry and Ron didn't like being the centre of attention. It made them feel uncomfortable, knowing that people were watching them and wondering about them, and asking themselves why they hadn't see it all along.

They would have been even more horrified had they seen the indulgent smiles that were sent their way when they slipped out of the Hall to find somewhere quiet to talk. How romantic, some thought, they can't wait to be together? Isn't it sweet?

They found a small room with a couple of chairs, and scowled at the occupant – some unknown and older Hufflepuff – until he took the hint and buggered off. Harry slumped dejectedly into a chair, whilst Ron paced backwards and forwards in front of the fire.

"You know, I'm surprised Hermione is so sure that Snape hasn't strayed. I mean, he's not as successful as us," Ron said modestly, "not with a face like that. But he has been around a fair bit."

"Maybe if we suggested it was someone else…" Harry screwed his face up in thought. "It's not as if Pansy is the most likely of partners. She's young, she's pretty…

"So's Hermione," Ron interrupted.

"… and married to Draco, and you know how fond they are of each other. It'd be more likely for him to be shagging Draco, when you think of it."

"I spose." Ron stared moodily into the fire. "Who else is there though?"

"It'd have to be someone older, really. Not someone who'd ever sat through a potions lesson – I think only Hermione is daft enough to ignore what a wanker he was at Hogwarts."

"How about McGonnagal?"

"Oh be serious Ron," Harry spluttered, laughing at the very idea. "She's all old and wrinkly. Besides I've always thought that she was knocking off old Dumbledore."

"Or Hooch."

The boys were very careful not to think about that too hard: there were some things that were supposed to be private, even if they did involve the usually interesting topic of what lesbians might do in bed.

"I can't think of anyone who'd be prepared to put up with Old Snapey, long term," Ron said. "I can see him getting a shag – he can be quite slimy in if he wants something, and that could pass for charm if you didn't know what he was really like – but I can't see them going back for a second helping."

"I bet he's never had half the women he's supposed to," Harry replied. "You know how people gossip."

"Or, if he did, I bet he slipped them something in their drinks."

The boys considered the idea for a moment, and liked where it was going. Of course Snape had drugged her, because otherwise she would never have turned against them, not good old Hermione. It all made sense now: her offhand manner, the cool welcome and the sheer bad taste of taking up with the one man they loathed above all others. It also raised the delightful prospect of getting Snape into trouble – even into Azkaban – once the truth came out.

Harry had been quite keen on bringing down Lord Voldemort, but it was as nothing to his determination to get Snape for seven years of being sneered at.

"That's what he's done," Harry exclaimed. "He slipped her some potion on that first evening and has been taking advantage of her ever since."

"She did seem a bit funny," Ron replied, moving the theory from tentative conclusion to firm opinion on one leap. "Her eyes looked glazed, don't you think?"

Harry nodded.

"So we have to rescue her, don't we?" Ron asked rhetorically. "It's the decent thing to do."

They boys grinned. Now they had an excuse to do what they already intended to do all along: take their revenge.

The boys were hell bent on making Snape pay, but were a little less clear about tactics. They could, if they were feeling suicidal, challenge Snape to a wizarding duel but they weren't entirely certain that he knew what the Kingsbury rules – the guide to duelling etiquette laid down in the seventeenth century – were. If he did, it was only from the perspective of working out what rules his opponent would be following, so he could take advantage of their stupidity and hex them in the back.

Snape didn't play nice. In fact, he didn't play at all, and brought a level of concentrated fury to duelling that they, rather sensibly, did not want to face.

"Besides," Ron said gloomily, "even if we did manage to get one past him, Hermione would go all soppy over him as the injured party."

"True, true," said Harry. "Girls are funny like that."

"And then she'd hex us herself," Ron continued.

"And we couldn't hex her back; that would be wrong," Harry said, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was extremely unlikely that they would be able to.

"So what we want is something more, I dunno, subtle."

That seemed a sensible and prudent approach. The only difficulty was that neither of them were particularly suited for subtle or, indeed, thinking of any kind at all. Ronald had acquired a reputation for being a deep thinker and a strategist of the highest order on the basis of being able to play chess a bit. This rather overlooked the fact that he had a tendency to support Harry in whatever ridiculous idea he was currently propounding, follow it to its logical conclusion, and then push the envelope a little further, leaving Hermione to come up with a coherent plan to put their ideas into effect and to pull them up short when heading off at a tangent.

Harry was the Hero, and therefore wasn't obliged to think much. He was perfect Heroing material in that respect, and his brow remained unfurrowed from the effort of cogitation.

This meant that they were rather at a loss when it came to plotting, and still further at sea when it came to implementation. It could have saved them a lot of trouble if they had considered this inability to organise a piss up in a brewery – at the very least they would have realised how much they owed to Hermione and, perhaps, decide to treat her a little better - but they didn't.

"Let's look at it logically," Ron said. "The real problem is that Hermione is behaving oddly."

"True"

"So what we really need to do is to bring her to her senses."

"Agreed."

"We are Aurors."

"We are."

"Which means that we have all the common antidotes in our kit."

"Never go anywhere without them," agreed Harry. "I like where you're going with this."

"All we need to do is administer the right potion and she'll be back to normal."

"And once we explain what happened, she'll be livid with Snape, and his goose will be well and truly cooked."

"Oh yes," Ron nodded. "The only difficulty is getting her to take the potions. We can hardly follow her round the Hall offering her drink after drink until we hit the right one. Snape would get suspicious for one."

"So we have to get her on her own. Which is a bit tricky when she isn't talking to us."

"We could say we want to apologise or something," Ron suggested. "That might work."

"If it didn't, we'll just have to use other means to persuade her," Harry replied, his hand hovering over his wand.

"Yes," Ron said slowly. "After all, it is for her own good. In fact, maybe we'd better not give her any choice in the matter. She's a bit quick on the draw, and we wouldn't want to miss our chance. If she runs off and tells Snape, he'll have a chance to cover his tracks."

"Stupefy then?"

"From behind."

"Good point – from behind it is."

"Now all we have to do is find her."

It wasn't a good plan; it was a bad plan. However, it was their only plan. Disaster was lumbering towards them like a charging Rhino – far off in the distance, but gathering pace with every passing moment – and they were too stupid to get out of the way.

They had made the fatal error of coming to believe their own press, and were going to pay the price accordingly.

Still, no one could deny that they richly deserved what was about to happen to them, and Severus would be the first to insist that it was a lesson long overdue, though there would be a long queue of wronged women forming up behind him to endorse his opinion.

Hermione had noticed the boys leaving the room, but had said nothing about it to Severus. He would only gloat, and whilst that gloating was in many ways perfectly justified, if it continued for too long she would start to feel guilty about things, and be driven to defend them, and then he'd get stroppy, and it would all end in tears.

There were some topics that were best left alone until they were slightly more established in a relationship and had quarrelled about the unimportant things like socks on the floor and leaving the loo seat up. That way, they'd have had a bit of practice before they moved onto the big issues like Harry and Ron and snoring and coming home late from the pub. (She wasn't going to give up her Friday nights without a fight).

Severus was proving to be surprisingly good company. His Slytherins had an entirely different view of him compared to the rest of the world. To them he'd been helpful and supportive in a dry and sarcastic way, setting their first, faltering steps on the road to success and steering them away from involvement with Voldemort. It was disconcerting to find that there were people in the world other than her that actually liked him and were capable of carrying on a civilised conversation with him.

Some of his ex-students were equally disconcerted by her, and cast sideways looks at her, but any inclination to say something rude to her or about her was stifled in the face of Severus' protective manner. Which was probably just as well.

Towards the end of the evening an old pupil approached Severus and indicated that he had something he wanted to discuss in private. Hermione took the hint and excused herself on the excuse of getting something else to drink and took the chance to catch up with some of her old school friends. Soon there was a small crowd of her contemporaries gathered round her – she'd never been this popular at school, she thought wryly – making small talk about the weather with people who clearly wanted to ask about Snape but hadn't quite got the nerve to do it.

It took Ginny to ask the question that most people were thinking. "So, you're going out with Snape then?"

"Yep," Hermione replied, and was rewarded with a flicker of annoyance.

"Oh, come on Hermione, give," put in Lavender. "We want all the juicy details."

"Do you really?" she replied.

"Erm, no. Come to think of it. Not all the juicy details. Just some of them – where you met, and …"

"And what on earth you see in him," interrupted Ginny.

"That's a bit harsh," Lavender said weakly. "I'm sure Professor Snape has some good points."

The group turned and looked at him as one, and then turned back, largely unconvinced.

"At least he washes his hair now," Ginny said. "I'll give you that. But otherwise he's still a miserable git."

"He's cheerful when he's with me," Hermione said firmly.

"I'm sure he is," Ginny sneered.

Hermione had never been that close to Ginny, what with a year between them and Ginny's obsession with Quidditch, but there was no reason for her to be so snide. It shouldn't matter to her who Hermione chose to go out with, unless she harboured some idea that Hermione had spurned her brother in some way, which was ridiculous.

"Let's not talk about Severus," Hermione said sweetly. "We'll only fall out. How's Harry? Seen anything of him lately?"

The taunt struck home, as she knew it would, and Ginny flushed an unattractive shade of red.

"No," she replied. "Neither have you."

Hermione smiled and went in for the kill. "No, I haven't. But then _I_ don't really want to."

Hermione was horrified to see tears well up in Ginny's eyes, to be quickly dashed away, before she turned and ran out of the Hall to find somewhere to cry in private.

"Oh bugger," Hermione said.

"She's never really got over it," Lavender said.

"So it seems," Hermione sighed. "I suppose I'll have to find her and apologise."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Lavender replied. "She was being fairly rude herself. Snape may not be her idea of the perfect man, but there's no need to tell you that to your face."

"I shall have to apologise though."

"I shouldn't let Professor Snape hear you say that," Lavender replied. "He'll think you're letting the side down."

Hermione smiled faintly. "I think I'll leave the biting sarcasm to him in future; he's better at it than I am. If Severus comes looking for me…."

"I'll tell him where you've gone, don't worry. Now go and sort Ginny out – and tell her to get some backbone!" Lavender replied cheerfully.

Hermione would have much preferred to return to Severus' side and spend the evening with him but, having upset Ginny, she supposed it was her duty to apologise at the very least. When she was younger she would have felt it was up to her to sort the girl's problems out as well, but time and experience had shown her that if someone was determined to eat their heart out over a boy they would, and there was nothing you could say to stop it. It was easier to persuade a House Elf that it wanted to be free, than to persuade a woman in love that her ain true love was black hearted scoundrel.

And what on earth did Ginny see in Harry that had made her pine for him for so many years? He nose was too small, he had stubby little fingers, and his voice was still a childish treble. He had no presence, no style, and no tendency to dramatic entrances. The chances are he'd be a lousy kisser as well. He looked like a dribbler.

Ginny hadn't run far – just to the nearest ladies' loo – and was bending over the hand basin bathing her eyes. "Oh, it's you," she said unenthusiastically.

Hermione smiled feebly. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said that about Harry…"

"No, you shouldn't have."

"…but you shouldn't have started on about Severus.

Ginny picked up a towel and dried her hands thoroughly. "You really like him, don't you?"

Hermione nodded.

"But he was such a pig to us when we were at school," Ginny said.

"He was," Hermione replied.

"You're going to tell me he's changed."

She wasn't going to say anything of the sort. He hadn't really changed at all. He'd probably always been nicer to adults than children so she was reaping the benefits of moving into that category, and he was certainly under a lot less pressure than during the rise of Voldermort so he didn't want to kill every second person that he met, but he was still arbitrary and tyrannical as a teacher. "He's not perfect by any means, but he'll do me just fine. At least he treats me with a bit of respect, which is more than that pair of idiots has been doing."

There was a moment when Ginny was poised between wanting to disagree out of family loyalty and the remnants of Hero worship, and facing the facts that the pair of them were idiots. She let out a long breath, put the towel carefully back on the rail, and said, "They have been prats recently. Mum's at her wits end with them."

"I can imagine." Hermione had tried to break herself of the habit of giving advice. People rarely listened to good advice anyway, but they did get upset and bitter about it being given, and even more so if you reminded them of the advice when everything had gone very clearly tits up.

'I told you so' was almost the Fourth Unforgivable.

Still, Ginny looked so lost and desolate, someone had to tell her the unpalatable truth, even if it did mean that she'd never speak to Hermione again.

"Look, if I were you," she began.

"I know, I know, you'd give him up as a bad job and get on with the rest of my life," Ginny interrupted wearily. "I've heard it all before."

"I was about to say, I'd bloody well make my mind up what I wanted, and then go out and get it."

Ginny blinked. This wasn't what she'd been expecting. "What do you mean," she said cautiously.

"Look, you want Harry Potter. I think you're demented and you'd be better off with someone else, almost anyone else actually, but if that's what you want stop crying in loos and start thinking."

"But what can I do?" she wailed.

"I don't know, but what you're doing now clearly isn't working. Change your tactics. Ignore the sod. If he thinks that you're always going to be around waiting for him like a good little girl, then there's no incentive for him to change his behaviour. Go out. Have fun. Either he'll come running when he realises what he's missing…"

"But what if he doesn't?" Ginny interrupted.

"Then you'll know where you stand once and for all, you can put him behind you, and get on with the rest of your life. At least you'll have had some fun on the way. Lots of fun, if you put your mind to it."

"I don't know…"

"Look at this way: what have you got to lose?"

"Nothing really," Ginny said slowly. "All right, I shall give it a try. It'd serve him right if I did ignore him."

"That's the spirit."

Ginny took a couple of deep breaths, murmured something unflattering about Harry under her breath, and smoothed her robes down over her hips. "Right," she said, checking her face for signs of crying. "Bollocks to him."

"No why don't we get mildly drunk and leer at some attractive young men?"

"Won't Professor Snape object?

"I don't think he'll mind who you leer at."

"You know what I mean."

"As far as I'm concerned Severus is an attractive young man, and I intend to leer at him all evening."

Ginny giggled, and giggled even harder when Hermione gave her a mock-glare of reproof. "Whatever you say, Hermione, whatever you say. I wouldn't dream of arguing with you."

"Good," she replied. "You should know by now that I'm always right."

"Not always," Ginny replied, "there was that time with McSweeney and the amazing disappearing cauldron."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I can give you several good reasons why that wasn't my fault at all."

"Name two," Ginny said, opening the door to allow Hermione to leave before her.

Hermione had her head turned back to talk to Ginny, so she never saw the drawn wand or had a chance to block the muttered, "Stupefy!" and simply collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

Fortunately Ginny managed to slow her descent, and shove her to one side so that she ended up propped up against the wall rather than hitting the ground. "What the hell .."

"Don't worry, Gin, it's only us," came the cheerful voice of her brother.

"What do you two think you're up to?" she asked, glaring at the boys in turn.

"It's Snape," Harry said. "He's done something terrible to Hermione. We've got the full Auror's kit up in our rooms, so we're going to try a couple of antidotes and see if we can bring her out of it."

"If that doesn't work, we'll have to take her to St Mungo's," added Ron.

"She is going to kill you when she comes round," Ginny said. "Come to that, Snape is going to kill you when he finds out."

"I'm not frightened of Snape," Harry said hotly.

"And Mum is going to go spare," Ginny added. "Absolutely spare."

Ron, who had been moving forward to get a good hold of Hermione, hesitated. "Erm, do you think so?"

"Absolutely. You'll be doing your own ironing from now on," Ginny replied, casually moving for her wand to head off any foolish moves by the boys. Living with the twins tended to make you quick on the draw.

Ron threw Harry an anguished look, cowed by such an unspeakable threat, but Harry was unmoved. "We have to be strong, Ron. Hermione is more important than ironing."

Ron gulped, and then nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"Right, if you take the other side, and I grab hold like this…" Harry tucked Hermione's arm over his shoulder, and Ron did the same, "… then if anyone sees us, it will look like she's had a bit to drink and we're taking her back to her room."

Ginny watched the two of them struggling off down the corridor in blank amazement; they really had lost the plot. "Never mind Mum, Hermione is going to be furious when she wakes up," she said to herself. "I'd better get Professor Snape, or there really will be trouble."

Severus, having dealt with the delicate matter that Stebbings wanted to discuss (why people thought he was a purveyor of impotence potions, he would never know), was wondering where Hermione had disappeared to, though he wasn't about to start wandering round the Hall and asking where she was because that would be clingy and desperate.

He was somewhat surprised when Ginny Weasley made a beeline for him through the throng – Gryffindors didn't usually approach him at these events – but quickly assumed that she was going to have another attempt at extracting information from him on behalf of Potter and her brother.

"Professor, you've got to come quickly. Harry and Ron have kidnapped Hermione!"

He blinked.

He knew they were stupid – he'd spent the last ten years telling people they were stupid – but even he hadn't expected them to do anything so, well, stupid. It made Sterminous – whose last words had been, "Of course adding antimony to the mix won't make it explo…" – look like a genius in comparison.

"Kidnapped?" he asked, well aware it wasn't the most intelligent question to ask.

"Yes, kidnapped, as in abducted, as in taken against her will. You know. Kidnapped. Now what are you going to do about it?" Ginny asked in the same sort of tone he'd used on recalcitrant children over the years.

"Rescue her, of course," he replied, his brain on busy calculating how best to turn this to his advantage.

"Good. Well come on then," she said, jiggling from foot to foot in her anxiety.

"I think," he said gravely, " that we need reinforcements when dealing with two such desperadoes. After all, they might not even be Harry and Ron but dangerous Death Eaters masquerading as them, and we wouldn't want to put Hermione in danger would we?"

An evil grin spread across Ginny's face. "That's true. And coincidentally, their boss is just over there. Obviously he would be just the right person to help."

"And perhaps the Headmaster, as it is his school?"

"Absolutely."

Hermione regained consciousness slowly: she became aware of a throbbing head, and thought she might be in bed nursing a hangover, then there came the dull, pounding bass of two male voices, and she wondered who was with Severus, and why he hadn't given her a hangover remedy, and then the two voices resolved into Harry and Ron and it all came flooding back.

A long, long time ago she'd pondered what to do if ever captured by Death Eaters. Panic, had been her first thought, followed by Pray for Help, neither of which were likely to be very helpful.

If someone didn't kill you out of hand, she'd reasoned, they'd want either to ask you questions, issue grisly threats or engage in mindless torture.

So the best thing to do was to fake being unconscious for as long as possible. That would buy you valuable time, and allow you to be rescued in the nick of time (or possibly ten minutes earlier if you managed to drag things out for long enough).

She wasn't in any immediate danger from Harry and Ron, other than from spraining a rib laughing in their faces, but she decided to keep her eyes closed a little longer to see quite what they thought they were up to.

"I don't understand it," Harry was saying. "How can they believe we are gay?"

"Well I know I'm straight," Ron said. ""I can see why they might have doubts about you. Your hair is a bit long, and you do play that sensitive, tortured soul stuff a fair bit. It is a bit poncy."

Harry glared at Ron. "And being a Quidditch nut who spends all his time hanging round with other men is being butch, I suppose?"

"That's different," Ron said. "Quidditch is normal, and manly, and…"

"Are you saying that I'm not normal?" Harry said, interrupting Ron's thesis on Quidditch as a sign of Straightness.

"No, mate, I'm just saying that some people might think that you're a bit girly," Ron said soothingly. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. But you know how it is."

"Obviously I don't know 'how it is'," Harry said coldly. "Perhaps you'd better explain it to me again."

Hermione opened her eyes – the two of them were so busy bickering they wouldn't have noticed if the Rhino of Doom had appeared. All she could see was a ceiling above her – she was flat on her back on a bed, and bound with magical ropes to stop her moving. Her wand, which should have been digging into her, was missing.

"Will you two stop bickering," she said coldly, "and untie me before Severus gets here. I'm not feeling very fond of you at the moment, but I'm sure that Poppy has better things to do with her Christmas holidays than reattaching your limbs."

"Oh good you're awake," said Harry, and two anxious faces appeared over her.

"Well spotted," Hermione snapped.

"Do you think that's a side effect of the potion," Harry asked Ron. "Being sarcastic?"

"I don't think so," Ron said, disappearing from view. There was the sound of riffling pages as he consulted a book. "Nothing in here about sarcasm being linked to a particular lust potion. Must just be spending time with Snape."

"Or having to deal with idiots," Hermione said.

"Definitely Snapean that," Harry said. "Our Hermione wouldn't say things like that, not about us."

"Bollocks. I've said much worse over the years," she said. "Now let me go."

"You'll just have to trust us," Harry said. "In a few minutes time you'll be wondering what on earth you saw in the Greasy Git."

"In a few minutes time that Greasy Git, as you so charmingly put it, will be bursting through those doors and wanting to know what the merry hell you think you're playing at and I hope you've got a good answer because you'll need one."

"I'm not afraid of Snape," Ron said, twitching a bit.

"Neither am I," Harry chimed in.

"No, you fancied him," Ron sneered. "All that time spent mooning over him in lessons; it wasn't hatred at all, was it? You fancied the arse off him."

"I did not," Harry replied indignantly. "I bloody did not. You take that back."

"Come off it, Harry, you spent all your time trying to get detention with him."

Harry, driven beyond human endurance by the foul slanders being thrown at him by his best friend, gave an outraged squawk and launched himself across the room at Ron, and tried to persuade him of the error of his ways by thumping him very hard in the solar plexus.

Not one to give in, Ron made a spirited attempt to knee Harry, now thrashing around on top of him, in the groin. The struggle continued, with lots of grunting and groaning, and stifled noises of pain, and then the door was blasted from its hinges with an enormous bang, and Severus stepped through followed by Ginny, Dumbledore and a strange man Hermione didn't recognise.

The two boys were so engrossed in their battle, that they barely registered the interruption and continued undaunted.

"Mr Potter, and Mr Weasley, if you could desist from this display of affection, I would be grateful," Severus said. "This is hardly the time or the place to be indulging in such behaviour."

The two boys looked up, frozen in place almost as effectively as if they had been Petrified.

"Oh bugger," said Ron.

"Apparently so," said Severus, and smiled like a fox who'd seen an unattended chicken passing by.

The two boys leaped apart.

"Severus, dear, could you let me free?" Hermione asked plaintively.

"I don't know; I can see all sorts of possibilities in that position," he replied, smirking.

The boys winced and began their Occumency exercises: clear your mind, clear your mind!

"That may be," she said primly. "But it's bloody uncomfortable lying here. I'm sure you're supposed to use silken ropes for that sort of thing, and preferably with warming and cushioning charms."

Ginny giggled, and was glared at by all parties.

Severus released Hermione from her bonds. She sat up, and rubbed her wrists and ankles to her restore feeling to her extremities whilst the boys attempted to justify their actions.

"It's not what it looks like, Guv.," Harry began.

"It had better not be. I expect my Aurors to be better behaved than that," said the stranger.

"We were just… Hermione was just helping us with our enquiries," Ron said, examining his feet as if they held the answer to the secret of the universe.

"And this necessitated kidnap?"

"No, sir," Harry said.

Well, yes sir," Ron said, deciding that honest was the best policy.

"And then brawling, like common criminals. Tsk. I'm very disappointed in you."

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

"I think the only thing to do is to pack you off on a re-training course," their boss said.

"Yes, sir."

"Somewhere cold, I think, to cool your ardour."

Ron nudged Harry in the ribs and muttered something about 's'all your fault'.

"And if you two don't pull your socks up, I shall consider splitting you up."

"But sir!" Harry protested.

"You can't do that," Ron added.

"I think you'll find that I can do that, and I will do that."

"Now, Streffings, I can remember what it was like to have to come to terms with something that made you feel like you weren't like everyone else," Albus said. "I can see that Harry is deeply troubled, and, whilst he obviously has to be reprimanded for his foolishness tonight – I wonder whether he might benefit from some guidance from an older and wiser head."

Harry looked up, ready to leap at the chance of freedom – there were rumours about Streffings sense of humour that made Mad-Eye look sensible.

"I know you mean well, Albus," Streffings replied. "But we can't give them any special treatment."

"I wasn't suggesting that," Albus said kindly. "But I can remember what it was like to be young and confused about certain aspects of your life, and perhaps Harry – and Ron, of course – would benefit from talking things over."

Harry had never noticed before how much the Headmaster's eyes twinkled. He'd never really thought about colourful his robes were. He'd never thought about the fact that Dumbledore's name had never been linked to any woman.

Now he was, and going to Siberia – or Leeds – was suddenly looking attractive. Talking about his feelings to the Headmaster was definitely not a good idea. "No, that's alright, Headmaster," he said quickly, shuffling towards the door. "We should do whatever the Guv'nor says. That's right, isn't it Ron?"

"What, oh, yes, yes," Ron agreed hastily.

"I'm glad to hear it," Steffings said. "I'm going to knock the two of you into shape, if it's the last thing you do. Now get your stuff together. Now, gentlemen," he barked, propelling them into action.

The boys quickly packed, shrinking their clothes and stuffing them into a satchel. Harry blushed as he emptied the contents of the chest of drawers, and tried to hide his underpants from view in case it inflamed any of the men in the room into uncontrollable lust.

"Erm," he said. "I've finished."

"So've I," added Ron.

"Right you 'orrible pair of erks, get your arris down those stairs, before I dock you six weeks pay for being stupid in a public place."

They scurried out of the room as quickly as possible, and could be heard clattering down the stairs.

"Thanks for that, Severus," Steffings said. "I've been looking for a chance to take those two down a peg or two for years, and you've just handed me the opportunity on a plate. If there's ever anything I can do in return…"

"Just try and knock some sense into them," Severus said.

"I'll do my best," Steffings replied. "Sorry for the aggravation, Miss." He nodded at Hermione before ducking out of the door, and bellowing further instructions at the boys. His voice could be heard echoing round the castle, and when they looked over the banister, a small crowd had gathered in the Entrance hall to see what was going on.

Harry and Ron's humiliation was complete.

"I think they're going to find that hard to live down," Ginny said.

"I think so," Hermione replied. "It might even be the making of them."

"I doubt it," Severus said. "They will always be idiots. What they really need is some young woman to take them in charge and get them sorted out."

"Like, I did you, you mean," Hermione said, laughing up at him.

"Exactly like that," he said softly, putting an arm round her waist. "Though I must say that I've never been as foolish as that."

"Let us be grateful that they have the change to be young and foolish," Albus said. "There was a time when we didn't believe that that day would ever come."

Severus sighed, ruffling Hermione's hair, and pulled her a little closer. "I suppose, when you put it like that… It's still annoying though."

"When you reach my age, young Severus, you will realise that being irritated keeps the blood flowing and the mind active. If I hadn't had to deal with all these children, I think I would have popped off years ago."

"I shall bear that in mind, Headmaster, the next time some idiot blows up a cauldron," Severus said.

Albus merely twinkled at him. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could do with a stiff drink."

"That sounds, as always, like a bloody good idea," Severus replied.

And on that note they went down to rejoin the party with the warm glow of a job well done.

A/N I should also make it clear that Harry's unenlightened and inaccurate views on homosexuality are not those of the Author.


End file.
